Secondhand Lions
by Krahae
Summary: In which, Harry learns he's not really Harry at all...
1. Homecoming

_**Secondhand Lions**_

**Chapter One - Homecoming**

_In which Harry finds himself unable to abide his fate, and decides to change it, a meeting with the Malfoys, and waking to an unpleasant question. _

-

Contrary to popular belief, I am not stupid.

Contrary to popular belief, I'm also _not_ a hero.

To the former, I know my close friends would not consider me so, not after all that's happened to me. The brutal truth is I've been put in situation after situation that requires me to think on my feet, and go with the results. Bravery? More like survival instincts. Hermione's efforts to keep my grades in decent form are all accepted with thanks, after all my experience with schooling is a thing best left unsaid. As for life experiences and knowledge, I'm also a bit lacking. Sue me, I've not precisely been the poster child for healthy living and practices. Hero? I've stayed alive – it's genetic prerogative. Me or them.

So, while I have some limited grasp over what should be, as far as my life goes, and a passing idea of what's right and wrong, the question begs to be answered...

Why?

I looked again at the letter. After the events of last year, after our... _discussion_ in his office, again with the same tiresome orders.

_Stay at the Dursley's. Don't question me. This is for your own good. I'm only doing this because I can't trust you to make the right decisions, so you must trust me._

The letter itself could have been pages long, but the gist was always the same. Always. The old man never changed, did he? A corner of my lip quirked up at this. "Old Man," I said aloud, thinking that the Headmaster would be somewhat surprised to hear his new _respectful_ name, at our next meeting.

_Bitter?_ The little voice, speaking with Sirius' tone brushed itself against my internal storm.

_Yes, and with good reason_, the tempest replied. A wry smile bent my lips, thinking of what Sirius would say to my internal dialog some days.

Sighing heavily, I threw the paper across the room and looked back to the messenger. Fawkes stood there, apparently waiting for something. "So, he expects a response? A confirmation of his will being done?" Unable to keep the sarcasm and sneer out of my voice, I don't bother to try. Apparently my tone wasn't lost on the phoenix, and it seemed to puff itself up importantly while it's usually calm gaze went critical. Narrowing my eyes in turn, I consider venting my anger at it instead of waiting but remembered well that it was responsible for my escape during second year. My teeth ground with a sound very much like wood creaking. "Fine," all but spitting the word, I sat at the meager table my 'family' had allowed, and ripped a page from a simple muggle notebook I'd acquired.

No point in wasting class-grade parchment on it. Taking up an ink pen, I scratch out a hasty response, something indicative of my thoughts;

_Dumbledore,_

_After our talk, I expected more. Color me jaded, but this doesn't surprise me in the least. You kept Sirius locked away, have shown me no remorse, or for that matter acknowledgment even regarding my own situation, but here you are again! Same, tired garbage._

_I've had enough. _

_You may be the guiding light for the wizarding world, but to me, you're just another obstacle at this point._

_Obviously you don't think the trust we talked about works both ways. Well, I'm going to clear that up right now. I don't trust you, any further than I do Tom. In fact, I think I actually do trust Tom more than you. At least he's been open and direct about his methods and intentions. You, I can't even guess._

_I want to meet. One week. I'll arrange my travel to Grimmauld. We'll discuss terms there._

_HJP._

Slapping the pen down, Fawkes gives out a startled trill, looking to me in something like annoyance for disrupting it's idling. Folding the paper messily, I don't bother to seal or tie it, just thrusting the missive at the phoenix's beak. You know, there's some merit to what my aunt and uncle say now and again. I can be a right bastard when it strikes me. "Take it and get out." With an indignant squawk he does so and I'm again alone in my room.

Seething, righteously so – I think, I consider my options: do I bother trying to go down to eat, as the gnawing in my gut urges, or do I avoid the disaster in making my blundering family and my current mood would be? I can't be civil today, I know that, the sick ache in my head knows that, sees that. I'll snap, there'll be a row, and someone will be blown up again. Then where will we be? Alice without her cat, no white rabbit, just a Queen of Hearts! Off with his head!

I slam my hand into the wall beside me, lips curled back into a snarl, just to get a rise out of Vernon.

Predictably, he starts railing.

Hero. Such funny stories they tell. The problem is, with what I know, it's either play the role or be a victim. I can't help it, but I really, _really_ hate that idea, and again I have to force feed myself calm to keep from blowing something up. Some day it's going to be my head, I just know it. Too full of things like the Ministry, Death Eaters, Dumbledore. With another snarl I wonder if there's some other, overlooked option I just haven't seen yet. I don't expect Tom to just let me be if I send a letter saying 'Good luck on that reign of terror, and oh, I'll just be sidelining this one! Cheers!' so it's got to be one way or the other, right?

Can I make my own way? Isn't that what Sirius was trying to do for me, before Dumbledore and the Order made Grimmauld into the new Azkaban? Glacial calm. Cool and calculating. My thoughts turn to black ice and a smile slips along my lips.

It's time to do what Sirius would have wanted me to. It's the least I can do, in his memory.

Doing what I do best, I start moving first, and planning after. I can feel Hermione's glare already.

-

* * *

-

Over the next day, I plan my moves carefully. Oh, Gryffindor I may be, but again – stupid I am not. The first step is to feel out the Order. This, obviously, is the easy part. Scratching down a note just in case, I pry up my floorboards and leave it there. Why leave it there?

Well, it is addressed to me. Lockheart's lessons in Defense were a waste, but his casual disregard for the sanctity of people's minds was clear. One word, a wand jab and I may as well have spent the last week moping about crying over Sirius, rather than stewing in fury over both our fates.

Not bothering to waste time on a cloak or other preparations, I walk out the door and stride out to the corner of the property. Nothing. Looking left and right, I can guess why at this point... likely the wards Dumbledore happens to think so much of extend to whatever ideal the Dursleys consider their 'home'. Shrugging, I turn down the lane and set up a rather relaxed gait. As soon as I cross the property, a chill sweeps over me and immediately I can feel something wrong. It's not the same field of sorrow as Dementor's put off, but it's close. Closing my eyes a moment, I concentrate and hear the sound of hurried footsteps coming my way. Forcing my stride to stay even despite the sensations assaulting me, I press on. Shortly though a hand clasps over my shoulder, and I'm spun around.

Harry Potter from a year ago would gape, and splutter, and come up with a flimsy excuse better suited to the well-known "hand in the cookie jar" scenario than any greater misbehaving. It was Snape! Sirius' laughter lasts only a second, but the thoughts were but a spark in the blink of an eye. Blame a seeker's reflexes.

Snivellus... where were you that night, I wonder?

This Harry Potter was tired of the old distractions. Tired of the manipulations and being held prisoner for so long. There would be no web of guilt over being caught out. That Harry Potter left with Sirius into the Veil.

Not having been very physical in my life I was surprised when going to Hogwarts. I was never at a disadvantage, other than height, to the other children. It took me, sadly, a very long time to place the reason when outside of the magical school, I was decidedly a runt. Two things finally occurred to me; one, magical people matured slightly slower or magic 'bolstered' them as life went on. Or both. I had to assume so, as otherwise people as old as Dumbledore would be walking skeletons and little more than dried skin over sinew. Two, the crutch of magic made people weak.

I'd taught the DA what they knew, and I'll be honest – I'm good at it. I can pick out one of my student's miscasts by motion, intonation, or intent easily. I wasn't wearing blinders in the Department of Mysteries. These supposedly insanely dangerous and powerful killers were no better than Dudley worked up into a rage and given a gun. Sure, I'll be the first to admit that on it's own it's a deadly ideal, but it's not a recipe for an unbeatable opponent. They rely on their magic to do everything, and without it, most are helpless, or at best, vastly incapable.

When the hand clapped down on my shoulder, intending to spin me around, I let it. I also let the momentum carry my fist into the invisible jaw I assumed was about six inches above my own and about a foot to the side. If I missed, the surprise would let me get maybe one more shot in. If not, I'd learn something else.

Luck was on my side. With a sharp snap my hand connected and exploded in pain. Yep, hit something solid, my aching hand reminded me, as I quickly took hold of the still invisible hand that was limply laying on my shoulder dragging whoever it was back behind a bush. With a moment's work, I relieved a blonde, middle-aged woman of her cloak, feeling only a little guilty for dazing her so badly. I'd expected Moody, or Shacklebolt, and a quick return to my room. This wasn't quite what I'd had in mind.

Taking her wand from limp hands, I jabbed it under her chin, and immediately she stiffened. "Harry, what are-"

"Quiet," I hissed out, glaring over my glasses at the woman. For emphasis, I prodded the wand under her rather pointed chin. "What kind of wards were those? The chill?"

Whoever she was, I had to give her credit. Wand pressed under her chin, de-cloaked and knocked half senseless, she still held her ground. "Dumbledore will not be pleased with this."

"You will find that really doesn't matter much to me," I declare quietly, searching her robe pockets for what I was looking for. Something edged and warm bruised my fingers, and in a moment I had the Order medallion in my hands. "This, I'll be keeping. Now, are you going to answer my question?"

A defiant narrowing of eyes and a quick glance down at my hands were the only warning I got, as she reached out and took hold of my arm. Sadly, she wasn't really expecting me to do anything, much less cast a spell.

One day, people will stop underestimating me.

I left her prone and out of sorts leaning against the hedge. The stunner wasn't powerful – the wand wasn't mine, and I was worried that at so close a range, it'd 'splash' onto me. Still, it was my opening. I had planned to simply feel out my guard and see what was there, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up. Still, I needed to get some confirmation on something, so as I stood in the shadow of the hedge, waiting, I did my best to cover the blonde woman back up with her cloak. It wasn't my best idea, but at midday with muggles about, I was actually surprised I didn't have to start yelling and acting like the woman was trying to kidnap me to avoid being considered a mugger. It wouldn't be a long stretch of the truth to say she wasn't, on Dumbledore's orders... I shook that line of thought off. No need to start justifying myself.

No owl. That confirmed one of my suspicions. Either whatever charms were in the Ministry to track underage magic were tied to wands, or homes, or a combination of the two. Either that, or there were other magical families nearby, and I was muddling with the system. Not bothering to look any further into it, I pulled off the cloak and pushed as much magic as I could into the stunner that I aimed at the woman.

For a full minute, I look at the wand in my hand. If there was a charm on the other, my holly wand, this could be a very useful tool. On the other hand, this woman was obviously Order. If I left it, she'd only come back and use it against me at some later date, on Dumbledore's orders. I'd be devastated if I lost my own wand. Narrowing my eyes, I come to a compromise and slip it into my pocket. I blanket the cloak around her, and pull her upright against the hedge, before heading back to the Dursley home.

I have much to do.

-

* * *

-

What was to be the second part of my plan for this situation was much simpler, and could have been done any time in the next week, but the run-in with the Order guard accelerated my time frame considerably. I was working on a number of assumptions, and it was time to get some truths and facts. Making my way back to 4 Privet, I let some off the adrenaline from my encounter with... who was that? Shaking my head, a sigh slips out. Only in Dumbledore's mind would a lot of strangers be considered trusted and privileged to oversee something he guarded so heavily. The man's logic absolutely boggles me on the best days. The high from the cocktail of fight or flight chemicals in my blood dims, and I start feeling a bit edgy, my hands shaking and too cold.

_Not yet_, I tell myself. Holding the wand steady in hand, I open the front door loudly and let it bang against the wall beside me. My heart jumps, knowing what's about to happen. Hands going steady as my breath quickens, I make a note to thank Madame Hooch for introducing me to adrenaline . Brooms were an amazing introduction to thrill-addiction.

"What the devil do you think-" cutting off as harshly as he began, Vernon stopped so fast in his bull-rush toward me that Dudley bounced off him like a racquetball.

Apparently the wand hadn't been missed. "Good afternoon, sir."

"Harry, what's the meaning of this?" Petunia on the other hand, starts getting shrill, as Vernon goes quiet. They really were meant for one another, the thought slips through my mind. Oh, Vernon's issue with magic wasn't fear – not by a long shot. It was control. He'd seen apparently at some point that his bluster and violence did nothing against a spell, and knew that faced with it, he was impotent. Remembering Lucius after my second year, I knew that there was little that a man put in a place where he was totally stripped of his usual assurances of control would not do.

"I think we need to talk," I say in as oily a tone as possible, flicking the end of the wand toward the den. Taking the hint, the two shuffle quickly to the room, while Dudley looks on with huge eyes and a hint of... betrayal. _For all the..._ sighing, I shake my head, catching his eye. The adults well out of earshot, I lean down and look at him. Really look at him, as opposed to glaring, or trying to read his intent in case I need to flee or duck or assume there's something unpleasant in my food.

Unlike his parents, Dudley has no stake in this. In any way. Caught up between the politics of Dumbledore and the Dursleys and my own fantastic fate, he'd been thrown like driftwood on the sea. Sure, he wasn't graceful about it. Hell, at this point neither was I! Still, I can only assume he cared about his parents, and every time the wizarding world had come in contact with his family, something bad happened.

"Listen," I whisper, still holding the mask of my anger in place even though I didn't feel any. "I'm not looking to hurt them. But I need answers, and the only thing you guys respect about me is this," waving the wand once, he cringes but I see a spark of acknowledgment in his eyes. Sighing, I straighten and motion to the den, and he scrambles along, but not in fear. I tuck that bit of data away for later.

Maybe Dudley would get... well _us_. Wizards. He's so used to gaining and keeping respect at the end of his fists. My eyes narrow. That's really all it is, I think as something in my head goes click in a sickening kind of vertigo. Wizards... it's just the same. We're all running around armed with what equates to rocket launchers or guns or what have you... and it's just that threat itself that keeps us civil. Some of us. Yet it's always the same, here and there. Whoever has the biggest stick – Dumbledore and Tom, in this case – makes the rules. You could argue about the Ministry keeping peace and civility, enforcing laws... but they don't. That's what I finally see. Dumbledore was given the lead of the legislative arm of the government. He could begin the process to out the Minister himself...

It'd be the same with Tom, I realize. Oh, there'd be plenty of death and pain to counter the unflinching benevolence Dumbledore had shown. Still, the end result would be the same. With this rather unpleasant thought rattling around in my skull, I walk out into the dining room.

I expect the rather blustery explosion of noise from Vernon and with more than a decade's practice in shrugging it off, I don't even look his way. That isn't to say this is the normal way I handle it. Usually doing that only enrages him further... which is what I want. With one of the Twins' wheezes gripped in the fingers holding the wand (borrowed), I let him keep on going. As I'm inspecting the fireplace intently, patently looking as if I'm ignoring his increasingly incoherent noises, the trigger for tonight's little show clicks.

_**Stomp**_.

He's standing and lurching forward, building momentum to get to me.

I flick the wand and in the same motion squeeze hard on the Weasley's Whomping Wheeze, MK II, in my hand. I had approached the Twins a few days before my own departure from Hogwarts, wanting to stock up on, shall we say, situationally special treats for my summer stay. Remembering well the bars on my window, it was all I could do to get less than a ton of helpful 'toys' from the exited boys. The only condition – test them all and get back to them with the results.

Vernon stumbled and fell flat on his ample paunch, as the low grade stunner snapped out and slapped him in the face. He'd wake back up soon – the candy was only meant to flummox someone for a few moments, but that wasn't the point.

I turned to wand to Petunia as Dudley looked back and forth from his dad to me, while his mother did her damnedest impression of a Howler. When she realized the wand was now aimed at her face, the woman's mouth closed with an audible snap. But only for a moment. "You'll be expelled now. Just you wait-"

"And then what? You enjoy me being here any more than I do? _Doubtful_," I sneer, with a barely contained urge to just do something to wipe the expression off her face. I don't know – and honestly don't care! – what went on between her and my mother. I'm not Lily. I'm not James. I'm Harry, and this harridan had made my life barely tolerable for over a decade. _No more_.

Her mouth working silently, I begged her with my eyes to say something, anything to justify what I was obviously waiting to do. Instead she clammed up, and stared pointedly at the window.

I, on the other hand, studiously studied my nails. After three minutes, Vernon stumbled up, looking back at me fearfully and shuffling back to the couch remarkably fast for his rather cumbersome size. It was then I smirked, and regarded Petunia again. "Waiting for something? Oh, right. The Ministry letters you've seen. It won't be coming."

Now there was fear. I took a breath, deep and slow as the feeling of them – them! – fearing me for once shot through me. I began to appreciate why people of less resilient mental material found it so intoxicating.

"W-won't? Wh-why not?"

Petunia's question pulled my attention to her. She always was the best under pressure. "The Ministry only cares about me not my muggle family, and I'm suddenly not worth keeping such a close eye on. You can say that whomever it was that was watching me so closely, has bigger things to worry about now."

Snorting, Vernon seemed unable to control himself, "Right as it should be, boy! You're nothing special."

"And to them – and me – you are simply nothing at all. Think about that. Think about who's going to come rescue you this time. Do you hear an owl at the window? Knock at the door?" I paused then, tilting my head for emphasis. "I certainly don't! Now that I've proved my point lets get back to why I'm allowing you to keep breathing, and have a little discussion."

It was with more conviction than I had, that the last was said. Oh, I'd daydreamed often about ending Vernon, make no mistake. I found out thanks to borrowing Susan Bones' books on law that it was in my right to do so, in fact. Muggles were protected from finding out about the wizarding world – but had approximately the rights of a house-elf when it came to a wizard in comparison.

And this, stuttering steps and stumbling toward a half-formed idea, was the beginning of the end of a chapter in my life.

-

* * *

-

"Let me get this completely straight," I snap, making everyone on the couch rear back at the heat in my tone. Petunia's eyes, usually dull and rather flat are awake and watching me with a wariness I've never seen directed my way. "Dumbledore has... paid you. For years. Every year in fact... to supply me with a healthy, normal home. And you spent it all on this..." breaking off, I can't help myself. It wasn't necessary! In fact, it had been agreed against. I was supposed to be treated well. They'd agreed to it! No wonder Dumbledore hadn't checked in on me. He didn't think there was reason!

With a wave I indicated Dudley, who's eyes were darting between me and his parents, emotions I wasn't used to and didn't care to unravel slipping behind them. Vernon looked on the edge of an aneurysm but held his tongue – likely between his teeth. Petunia was looking abashed but unapologetic. What the bloody gall! "Why?" The single word, spoken with every ounce of demand I had behind it brought their eyes back to me.

"Why what?"

Petunia's soft tone almost broke me. Oh, it wasn't soft in remorse, or apology, or even guilt. It was quiet because I'd stood and was shaking, wand jerking in my hand almost beyond control. First, barely three weeks ago I'd found that the entire farce behind my parent's death was utterly unneeded. At least, in my own mind I thought it so. They didn't have to die because of this mess... this prophecy and it's insanity. Then I find that Sirius was supposed to be my guardian, and through actions mostly tracing back to Dumbledore, it was denied. And now this too? It was almost too much. "Why did he arrange _this_? Why _here_, why _you_ people?"

"Watch your tone, you should be thankful-"

"You should shut the bloody hell up before I reduce your head to a fine mist!" I snarl out in response, Vernon's jaw snapping shut with a sound like a wet towel being dropped. "You should be thankful. At least I didn't take after your very long and arduous lessons to teach me just how I should behave, when I find someone below me, staring up at me in fear!"

Vernon seemed to take umbrage at that. "I'm not afraid-"

I mutter some nonsense and jab my wand at him, as he all but crawls over the back of the couch, as a broad, wet stain spread along his thighs. Fucking animals... "Right," I sneer, wrinkling my nose at the smell. Turning back to Petunia, who's gone from pale to gray, I jab the wand in her direction. "Explain. In full."

Petunia did. I asked a few times for her to recall as best she could the memory, to be certain. It was then that I think I had the answer. Simple as it was. "So. He said, as best you can recall, that as long as I called this place home, as long as I had a home here that I'd be protected, and anyone here would be as well from those that sought to harm me?"

Nodding, she had regained much of her composure, but it was still shaken. The embarrassed looks to Vernon and his mortified state were enough to confirm that. "Until you came of age, at least."

Laughing quietly, I looked at them and couldn't help doing it again. Finally I'd all but collapsed as I leaned against a wall and wrapped my left hand around my stomach, all but hyperventilating. It was all I could do not to keep on, and it looked to be all she could do not to question my seeming lapse in sanity. "You don't get it, do you?" I rasp out, finally.

Her blank stare was answer enough. "When I come of age, I was going to leave this place. Leave it unprotected. Leave _you_ unprotected as well."

"We won't need to worry about that, boy." Ooh, she must be mad. Wasn't usual she fell to Vernon's tactic to diminish me. "With you gone, there's no reason to worry."

"Obviously. That's why my parents are dead. Why nearly a third of the wizarding world is dead. Oh, lets not forget – Tom has this thing against muggles. Hates them. Seems they treated him like an animal when he was growing up. He kills and tortures them for fun.

"Which leaves you. Unprotected. Openly available. And the reason why he couldn't find me for more than a decade.

"And leaves me, not giving a ruddy damn if he does, thanks to your gracious hospitality," I finish, spitting for good measure on the carpet.

It was really, really something to see the gears all click into place in their heads. First, Petunia and Vernon looked at one another in disbelief, as if they'd not ever considered the fact how they'd treated me would ever come back to haunt them. Snorting quietly, I had to remember these were not the brightest people I'd ever met... likely they never did consider it. Then, it was Petunia who blanched, going dead white in a matter of moments. Her eyes flick to me, and I can guess that she's thinking of my mother. How much magic she had! How powerful she seemed, to her muggle sister and parents! Then, like nothing at all, slapped down by some madman.

The same one I'm holding over their head now.

Vernon isn't far behind, though for less personal reasons I can assume. Likely Dumbledore had alluded to this, and all the pieces were fitting together. My warders and the Order's loyalty. The interest of the Ministry. Why the 'boy' seemed to garner so much attention. But then again, who knows what goes on in his piggish little mind. All that mattered was the end result – the slow crawl of realization across his eyes.

I did know what _needed_ to be going on, behind those dull eyes. "Everyone expects me to be here, till I'm seventeen. They expect you to be here, as well." Giving them my level best calculating gaze, I smile, slowly. "Do you know the best way not to get shot?" I wait, as they try to switch mental gears, but don't pause long enough for them to engage. "Don't stand in front of bullets."

-

* * *

-

"Are you positive this will work, b-Harry?" The slight pause before my name made it obvious that Vernon's old habits died hard. Regardless, I was working on a very limited schedule, as I was sure by... well anytime now, whoever that woman was that was on patrol was likely either waking up, on her way to the Order, or on the way back with them. I didn't have the luxury to layabout and wait it out.

Nodding with more confidence than I had, I looked to the street and pointed at the goal. "You won't be able to see it without me. Are you sure you're going to be alright walking down a wizarding street into a bank run by goblins?"

Any other day Vernon's internal war with his concept of reality would amuse me. Today, I needed him. God how that makes me feel sick inside... still. It was necessary. This entire plan hinged on three things, and two were already agreed in motion. His nod was my signal, and with that we left the car, heading for the Leaky Cauldron. "Keep hold of my arm, or jacket. Otherwise you'll get confounded." Another terse nod was his reply.

There was no way at all I'd be able to get into Diagon, much less down to Gringott's looking like myself. Which is why today, I looked somewhat more like Dudley. Packing and tying clothes about myself, I'd bulked up and looked nearly a match for Goyle, if push came to shove. Still, there was no sense being sloppy. A hat pulled down and a notice-me-not on my glasses should keep people from the obvious traits I can't hide with over sized clothing. I was tempting fate I know by using the wand (borrowed!) in the car, but so far nothing had happened. I was still wary of the Dursley's home itself having tracking charms or some other madness thanks to the Ministry or Dumbledore about, so I'd only taken the risk once we were well on our way.

Taking a steadying breath, I lead Vernon into the Cauldron. We pass Tom easy enough, though it's hard to avoid looking into the corner, where I can vaguely see a form that chills me in the shadows.

Severus Snape.

Hurrying along, but trying hard to only set a normal pace, we make it to the brick wall and barrier, with only a few glances our way from the Cauldron's patrons. I'm sure if Snape had bothered to look up, he'd have stopped us then and there. Unsure if he'd seen my uncle, the man's behavior alone was reason enough I'd think for one as suspicious as Snape to intervene. The lack of a word to halt us heartened me – maybe we could actually pull this off. I tap out the key as Vernon keeps jerking his head about, as if trying hard to keep his attention focused. I have to hand it to him, he's doing marvelously against the muggle repelling charms.

Diagon nearly sends him into a fit, regardless. Eyes rolling about at all the various conflicts to his mind's stability, he starts listing and jerking. Thinking fast, I pull him to the nearest shop, pushing him down into a chair with and holding him there with a glare. Hurrying inside, I locate the shopkeeper, and it's my luck this is the Apothecarium. "Good afternoon," the older man greets me, running a critical eye over my clothing.

"Afternoon," I manage, but still rush forward. "My father, he's not well. With all the Death Eater attacks, he's scared senseless of being out in public," looking back toward Vernon, I don't have to say much else, as the man tuts, making a soft noise of sadness.

Pursing his lips, he shrugs and reaches back, taking a small vial from the racks behind him. "Calming draught. On the house."

Looking pensive but internally rejoicing, I take it with thanks. "Only till we get back. Shopping list brings me here as well, but I need to see to money and him first, you understand."

"Of course," the man smiles more openly now, realizing his kindness has assured a customer. In truth, shopping was the last thing on my mind. Seeing the arrays of potions already made and ready though made me reconsider. No point in looking a gift horse in the mouth, as it were. Glancing back out, I see Vernon begin to rise and halt my musing.

"What are you doing," I hiss, as from behind I push him, albeit ineffectually, back into the chair.

Rounding on me he begins to sputter and curse, but instead he gets an eyeful of the vial I'm holding out before his face. "What's this rubbish?"

Shrugging, I pop the cork and take a drop or two myself. "Calming potion. Like a stout tea. If we're going to get out of this alley and on with our agreement, you need this."

"I don't bloody well need to be drugged!" Narrowing my eyes, I pointedly look around at the passerby who slow to send inquiring looks our way.

"Yes. You do, now either drink up or all bets are off."

Lip quivering in fear, anxiety, rage and likely indignation, Vernon doesn't so much as blink as he bolts the entire bottle in a motion. Nodding tersely, I point down the street and we continue our walk. Shortly, I hear the man chuckle, genuinely. "That stuff does wonders," he murmured, voice rather more controlled now.

"You'd be amazed what they manage with magic," I idly reply, honestly not caring for the conversation but willing to do it for appearances. Shoppers are chattering all around us, and the lack of talk would be more curious than not.

By some miracle, we make it to Gringott's and there's little lines to be seen. Hurrying forward, I take a position by a teller and wait for the goblin to ask me my business.

Shortly the diminutive creature does so. "What business do you have with Gringott's today?"

"A number of things. Status of my trust vault, family vault, any family holdings, and some questions and concerns."

Growling in a way I know simply means the goblin is thinking, I wait as he motions another toward him. "Name, and key please."

"Potter, Harry, and I have no key. It's not on my person," I reply, cursing for forgetting this detail. "Is there a way to get a replacement," thinking a moment I hold up my hand, halting the goblin. "Better yet, discreetly reclaim the original?"

Tilting his head, the goblin appraises me for a long moment with his beady eyes. "Was the key stolen?"

My turn for a considering silence. "I do not posses it, and did not give permission to the current holder to keep it."

With a feral grin, the goblin leans back and crosses his arms. "Simply state your name, and that you by right of ownership, reclaim your key on behalf of yourself and Gringott's. They are enchanted to be theft-proof. Also makes finding them when lost much easier."

Nodding shortly, I intone my intent and feel the weight of the key in my hand suddenly. Gripping it without dropping the delicate silver thing, I hold it out to the goblin. "Thank you."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. We do not condone unauthorized account access. Reclaiming your key is good business for us both." When the creature smirked and handed me back the key with a gesture, I grinned back. "Now, I cannot help you with all matters at a booth. Privacy issues. If you will follow me."

Taking hold of Vernon's arm, I pull him along as we go to a brief room, no better than a large closet with a single desk with a pair of chairs. Eying the curious arrangements, I take a seat and motion for Vernon in his still-calm state to do the same. I hope again the potion will last till we are well out of Diagon. Shortly, what I had considered a solid wall seems to just melt, and there on the other side sits a rather old, stately dressed goblin. At least I'm assuming it to be old, considering the amount of gray hair, excessive lining in the skin of it's face, and numerous false but wickedly gleaming metal teeth."Good day, Mr. Potter," the goblin rasped, and I nod respectfully in turn. "What can I help you with today?"

Taking a bracing breath, I start on the last leg of my plan. "First off, I need to know what funds I can access, er," pausing for a moment I look to Vernon, who blinks at me and gets a serious expression.

"He's looking for a balance on his liquid assets, and a listing of holdings, what interest is being accrued, and who his account manager is. Also," finding himself in familiar waters, Vernon continues to forge ahead. "Also I believe he wants details on any homes, properties, and material assets you may have listing of."

Small black eyes widening, the goblin starts making notes shortly but stops after a few moments. I begin to wonder faintly if we'd crossed a line and set up red flags but instead of wary or concerned, the goblin seems pleased. Once Vernon finishes, the diminutive figure nods shortly. "Yes, we can give you any information on these items. However," pausing for a moment the goblin seems to gather it's thoughts, looking between Vernon and myself briefly. "You will not be able to access them all until you reach your majority, or have a guardian present."

This is the tricky part, and I'm hoping to use it to bite someone for all the hell they've put me through. "I'm prepared. This man is my uncle, currently my warder and guardian. By law, he's been accountable for me for some time, in way of person, moneys and wellbeing."

Flummoxed, the goblin looks up to me, then back down at what I see is a small pit of sand, that has odd writing scrawling in it as I watch. I file this away for later but press on. "Is there another listed as my guardian? If so, that cannot be really... legal, can it?"

"Mr. Potter, will you make an oath to verify all you've said today?" Looking pensive, the goblin motioned to Vernon. "Though we do have your estranged Godfather listed, we also have another party currently responsible for you in way of money and properties. If you've been living under another's care, and the law recognizes them as your family and guardians, then we've done you a grave disservice."

"I'm not concerned about restitution, just putting things right. And I'm prepared for that oath," it doesn't even surprise me. I'd prepared myself for this, after all. The hints were all there. Hagrid having my vault key my first year. Tuition payed by someone for all my materials each year. Mysteriously it's always been an Order member each time, that I've come for my books and things. Still, I suppose it could have been worse. It's certainly getting better.

After my oath, and the following confirmation, we get down to business. I find a calm, helpful and canny Vernon to be a rather useful partner in this, asking questions I'd not think of, and offering insights I'd miss easily. He is a director of works in Grunnings after all, and it isn't like I have any kind of mind for money or finance, having had neither one or a use for the other yet.

My trust vault is now combined into my family vault, and the smaller one sold back to Gringott's. The Black vault was too large to integrate fully, but I don't intend to, still reeling a bit from the knowledge that Sirius left me everything, minus some small dispensations to his family. There's a letter for me to go over in my pocket, and two more I need to write out, come the proper time. If I'd thought my little coup d'état was going to be the hardest thing I'd considered, the two letters in my pocket were a reminder that I should be careful what I wish for.

Currently, we're tying up loose ends for all the final aspects of my plans.

"So, the listed property is in Australia, just outside of Sydney to the south?" A confirming nod from the goblin and I look to Vernon. "Sun and fun, and about as far from this war as you're going to get."

"Suits," he says with a slight frown. I don't know if it's the potion wearing off or another concern, but shortly he breaks into another series of questions, things I'm not sure about. The gist I get is that he's curious about distances, exchange rates, transportation and a few other details. The goblin liaison has most of his answers.

On a whim, I wait for a lull and place myself back in the conversation, "Excuse me, but... can I use Gringott's as a... broker? To sell some of these properties and make some purchases; property purchases?"  
"Of course. Your holding are substantial, it would be an honor to help you increase them," the goblin replied, as if it was the simplest thing on earth.

Sighing in relief, I tuck that bit away. No need to do it now – and besides, time is running out. "Can we have the listed items brought up, and the forms needed ready to take with us?" With a nod, the goblin makes a notation on the sand before him, and shortly a number of items are dropping slowly down into a small chute I notice for the first time in his office. "Will I need to mail them back before they are legalized?"

"Wizarding forms are usually held in duplicate, with both reflecting the state of situations," the goblin replies shortly, sorting the pile now evident on it's desk. When I raise my brow in question, he chuckles. "Forgive me. Once signed, anywhere, the records will be legal immediately, and the proper forms filed with both our records and your Ministry. The most expedient way is to do so with a drop of blood. This is the usual binding method."

I hear Vernon huff slightly, as he starts to regain his normal constitution. Realizing my time and business are both at an end, I smile at the goblin and indicate our affair are in order. Gathering up the forms parcels and small wallet with it's precious cargo, I usher Vernon out. As promised, I stop by the Apothecarium and get a brace of potions, in a self-shrinking box. For the road, I get both Vernon and myself a calming potion. After today, I think it was earned.

As he's driving back, Vernon keeps shooting me looks. Normally this isn't so bothersome, but today I'm edgy. Calming draught or no, it's getting to me. "What is it?"

"Why are you doing this? Really, why?"

The road passes by, a few quiet minutes along with it. "Because for all my life, I've barely been given a chance. I'm not blaming you, hell I don't know if I can blame anyone. Things... should have been different. They weren't." Turning, I let him see the determination I know is showing in my eyes. "I'm not going to let life keep running over me. Besides," shooting him a feral grin, I earn a chuckle in return, the potion dulling the impact of it and making the entire situation humorous, "in what I'm planning, you're doing me one last, vital favor. It's the least I can do to make it worth your while."

After a moment, he nods. Then, to my supreme surprise, smiles. "James was a strong man. Fr... Wizard, though he may have been. Fiercely protective of your mother. I envied him being able to just... make a life that was so perfect." Shaking his head, Vernon seemed to grow thoughtful. "It was shocking, to hear they had died. Petunia was broken for years after," shaking his head slowly, Vernon took a breath and fixed his eyes on the road. "She envied your mother something fierce. Never, though did she wish her ill."

It was about all I could handle. This... from Vernon. Being honest with myself, I'd never really come to terms with the state of my family. In a purely defined sense, as in I understood the words and what they meant, I knew that my aunt was my mother's sister. Silly as that sounds... I never, ever felt in them a kinship. It was a mental exercise, as Hermione would say. Divorced of feelings, but Vernon's moment of candid confession was in ways more shocking to me than some of the bombshells dropped on me in the last few years.

Thankfully the rest of the trip was had in silence. This gave me time to think, and I needed to do a lot of it. When I got back to Privet, likely there'd either be an owl, Order member, of I was utterly on Fate's short list, Dumbledore himself. My attack on the guard would not be ignored, I was sure. Reaching down I idly fingered the wand (borrowed) still in my pocket. Closing my eyes, I let all the things I'd done settle against me. With an effort I keep from laughing. Would Sirius be proud?

_Hell yes, pup_, bubbling with laughter, I hear the man's voice in my mind. _Pulling one over on the Old Coot and finally living? Hell yes I'm proud_.

Oddly, even though it's not really Sirius I'm hearing, it puts me at ease. I know, from knowing him, it's truth. With a sigh, the weight I felt on me since the Department of Mysteries lessens. It's still there, as I've not fully forgiven myself for a number of things, but I can breath a little easier. Looking out the window as the car slows, I bring my mind back into the now with a slow smile. We're home.

Life is about to get very interesting.

-

* * *

-

"I see my letter, like so much else, was ignored."

Dumbledore turns, a look of mild surprise on his features. I openly scoff. The man may be one hundred and fifteen years old or more, but the bloody car Vernon drives had no chance of sneaking up the drive. "Oh, Harry. I had just finished speaking with your Aunt."

"I trust her memory is intact?" The question, delivered with some venom, seems to set the man back a moment. Narrowing my eyes, I don't know whether to be furious that there's the possibility it's true, or that I've just startled him with expecting so little from the Great Albus Dumbledore.

"Of course, why would it not be?" The question carries a mild tone of disappointment, but I ignore it. Instead I push past the old wizard without another look and waiting on Vernon, get us both inside. As Dumbledore turns, apparently to follow, I close the door in his face.

Rushing inside, I find Petunia and Dudley looking a bit worse for wear, but showing little sign of having their minds scrambled. I ask three questions that I gave them answers to before I left, getting the same responses I'd expected. Sighing in relief, I turn at the sound of the door opening and while Vernon takes a seat by Petunia, in a rare show of solidarity I seat myself on the couch to his side as well. May as well play it to the hilt, if I'm going this far.

The 'Old Coot' as Sirius had dubbed him, comes into the sitting room with a look of slight consternation on his features. "Excuse me, but weren't you leaving?" The question, again, seems to give him pause. Distantly I wonder if that little talk we had at end of last term was only to calm me down and keep me from blowing his offices down around his ears.

Taking in our odd, for this household at least, seating arrangement, Dumbledore blinks a few times, his carefully manicured facade cracking slightly. Annoyance and a tinge of impatience leak out in his posture and the cast of his eyes. I recognize them easy enough – being in school teaches you quite a lot on how to read how an adult is about to explode at you, after all. Between McGonagall and Snape, I know it well enough.

Clearing his throat and regaining the usual mask of his Headmaster role, Dumbledore favors me with a kind half smile, "Harry, I was quite finished speaking with your aunt, but I do have some things to discuss with you in private."

"Say what you mean to here. This is my family after all," I shoot back, well aware what he's likely hinting at. I'm also well aware of his, though unintentional, lever at my own behavior. He'd asked and was told I'd have a healthy, loving home here, it had been arranged for me. Yet, obviously once I started Hogwarts this wasn't the case. Perhaps I'm jaded-

_Perhaps?_ A snort follows the mental impression of Sirius rolling her eyes at me.

I resist the urge to smile or roll my eyes in turn, a tiny part of my mind wondering at why I'm suddenly having conversations with myself. Pulling my attention back to the fore, I admit that once it became apparent that I hated my life here, it gave Dumbledore and honestly anyone who would take me away from this place a free pass to me. Try as I may, I still have to admit, Dumbledore still equals Hogwarts in my mind. Hogwarts still equals hope. Deliberately, I crush those thoughts back into a deep, dark hole in my mind.

My declaration gives him pause. "Harry, some matters are too delicate in nature to discuss so freely."

I let one shoe fall. "If it's something you can't discuss with my _legal_ guardians, perhaps I should contact a solicitor to mediate?" Hermione would be proud. I was paying attention to Susan's occasional rants, and when Vernon and our bank liaison were talking. Don't know how well she'd take me being so difficult with the Grand Old Man himself though.

Judging by how the usual cheery twinkle in his eye has been replaced with a hard light, I can truthfully say she'd probably be standing beside McGonagall giving me dirty looks. "That mistake in thinking aside, I must insist Harry."

Now for the other shoe, "No mistake, Old Man," the little thrill in rebellion surges through me, and it's all I can do to keep a nervous laugh behind my lips. Reaching into my pocket, I pull the packet with the abbreviated but perfectly legal information all present, tossing it to him with little ceremony. Sirius' will had been very, very clear: I was to pick my own guardian, and let neither Dumbledore nor the Ministry have any say in it. Regardless of whether or not he'd intended it, the Headmaster's little power play on trust had backfired on him spectacularly. If it weren't for that one, glaring, critical issue, I'd have been content to sit here and wait for him. It wasn't like I knew I had a choice.

Driving me to test and push at those limits gave me options. If he'd trusted me and taken me to the reading himself, I'd have likely been easy to guide into granting him custodianship. If he'd trusted me and told me long ago about the prophecy, I'd not be so angry, so determined to push him completely out of my life. Now, he was going to lose control.

I refuse to let him have it over me. _No more_.

Dumbledore makes a show of glancing over the forms, then snaps his attention back to them with a jerk of his head. "Harry... what have you done?"

"What I needed to," I answer quietly, but without pause. To say this was hard would be an understatement. How many bridges had I already burned, and how many more was I going to before the end of this week?

Eyes narrowing, Dumbledore pockets the form. "I can't let this stand, Harry."

Fixing my eyes on him, I stand and walk right up, nose to nose with the old man. "The forms are already duplicated in the Ministry," I say in an offhand manner. "I even put in a small letter to Madam Bones about how badly my accounts had fallen into disarray along with the goblin's ledgers. They seemed to be quite put out my key wasn't given to me, nor my apparent or legal guardian, but were rather happy to see I wouldn't be seeking restitution. Just a favor or two." Seeing the mild jolt of the implications of what I'd just said going through him, I repress a grin.

"You know, I'd always thought that the Sorting Hat mentioned Slytherin because of Tom's influence. The Parselmouth nonsense. Now, I have to wonder," turning I cross to the living room and open the door. "In a week, I'll meet you in Grimmauld. We can finish this then."

Without another word, Dumbledore steps out and barely clearing the wards, simply apparates away with a mighty crack. I wonder how much this is going to cost me, in the end. Feeling it already telling on me, I sag against the door frame. A moment later I'm surprised to feel a pair of hands pulling me back up and leading me to the couch. "Huh?"

Amused at my sudden lack of vocabulary, Petunia looks down on me with a wry expression. "You have no idea how many times we've wanted to just tell him off, for what..." losing or likely rethinking her words, she shakes her head. I don't have the energy to ask. Standing up, even briefly, to Dumbledore cost me what energy I had left. Seeming to have her wits sorted, Petunia continued, "I think he had that coming."

Laughing a little, I just lean back on the couch, shaking my head. "You should see what I have for him in a week."

-

* * *

-

The next morning I send the borrowed wand back with Hedwig, with a note of apology. With everything going so well, so far, I figure it best not to tempt fate with any more shenanigans. Not knowing where else to send it, the Order HQ will have to do.

I don't expect that Hedwig will be back tonight, as that wasn't the only package she had. Not knowing who else, or where else to turn after I'd essentially let the cat out of the bag, I penned a letter to the one person who'd not turned on me, and stood by me through all the previous years and their madness.

_Hermione,_

_Wow. It's been a pretty mad summer already. No doubt if you've been in contact with the Order you've heard about what I've done. Save your ranting for another time, at least one where you can do it face to face. You know how much I enjoy watching you get worked up._

_Things are going to change soon. Change a lot. If I'm lucky, I'll be back at Hogwarts for next year. It's my second home, really, where my first one... I never knew. I know it's out there, somewhere. Waiting for me. Hah, look at me waxing poetic. I've done some things that you'd be going spare over right now, and it's barely been two weeks. I'm not sorry though._

_I'm tired of being sorry._

_I'm tired of being the Boy-Who-Lived._

_Because I've not lived. Not yet. I've survived. Every year it's just that. I run to Hogwarts to learn, to grab on to this idea that it's a better world, with you and Ron and being wizards. But it's not. You two keep me grounded, my friends keep me there. Do I feel like a wizard? Like I belong there? Hell no. _

_Forgive me for being blunt, but it's the truth. Why should I feel that way? I've had my life threatened every year! I had to come to grips that even though it was Voldemort's influence on Quirrel that killed him, it was still me that was the final stroke. If I wasn't there, the troll would never have happened. You would never have been put in danger... but as selfish as it is, I -_

Stopping there, I scratch out the last line. I can't... do this. Hermione is my best friend. Ron had that place for a while, but honestly, it was done. I'd still consider the young man friend, but nothing more after all the times he'd turned on me, over the years. Mind turning back to Hermione's face, were I to start gushing about these... repressed feelings, a shudder runs through me. She and Ron were just starting to take each other seriously. I _can't_ stand in the way of that.

_...troll would never have happened. You can't say that it's all fun and games. Someone's going to get hurt. Some already have. I was eleven when I took a life, Hermione. No one should have to deal with that. _

_I'm sorry. Ranting again. I'm sure you're curious how I'm dealing with Sirius... and I'm alright. Not fine, I know you well enough not to try that. I know how he wanted to live, with me. How we planned to. How he wanted to live his life, even alone. People never gave him that chance, but he's given it to me. _

_He showed me, by falling through the Veil that night that you have to fight for what you believe in. I can't sit here and wallow in self-hate and pity. I can't. I'd be wasting every moment he spent with me if I did. _

_It's my life._

_Time for me to live it._

_I'll hopefully see you for a while in six days when I'm meeting Dumbledore and likely the Order in Grimmauld. Yes that was a hint. Subtle aren't I?_

_Here's another. I'd like to see you, before I start the next step._

_Yours,_

_Harry James Potter._

I had folded the note fast, mussing a corner of it. My hands shook with how rattled I was at my nerve. Swallowing, I hope she won't think less of me for hoping to see her, and saying so, as bluntly as I did. For all she is my best friend, the idea that she'd be disappointed in me scares the hell out of me. The idea she'd be so perturbed at my actions to deny me made my blood go cold.

Laying in bed later, I had to laugh. Where was the Harry that stunned and took out his own guard only days before? That stood up to Dumbledore and sat him back on his heels? Thinking back to the letter, I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

What's done, is done. All that's left now is to reap the results.

-

* * *

-

The next week passes with only a few memorable moments. Amelia, while chiding me over pulling her into this, regardless submitted my grievance to the court for a minor hearing, not something that would require my presence or hers. The point of it, was to have the record on file. That was done with little work, and she wished me well on my next year of classes, saying Susan was looking forward to the DA again.

I didn't have the heart to reply that the DA may not be around next term.

Hedwig had returned without a letter, and more than anything else weighing on me, that took the wind out of my sails. I'd expected a rant, or at the least a stern note telling me to keep some salve handy, for the chewing my ears would receive, but nothing... that disturbed me. Despite it, the voice inside me I'd started to associate with Sirius kept me going, urging me to brace myself for things to come and focus.

I did my best. The Dursleys were terse but welcoming, once Vernon was forthcoming about things as they were to be. Despite my urgency and anxiety to get this done as soon as possible, there was an order to my madness. I couldn't finalize the last step till I was sure that all others were complete. To that end...

"Uncle, are things working out on your end?"

Peering up over his paper, Vernon nods once, briefly. "Grunnings agreed to it. We'll be ready when you leave tomorrow. I have the schedule ready and all the arrangements set in motion. Once you leave the house, it'll be over with."

Nodding in turn, I heave a sigh. The only variable was taken care of. Seeing the boxes and moderate work already going on, I should have guessed. Still, best to know for sure. "I'll delay as best I can. I don't know how soon they'd be here after, so be quick."

Grunting, Vernon's answer was hidden by the paper he pulled back up before him. I smiled in turn, stifling a laugh. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Oddly, that gave me some comfort, with all that was going on.

With a sleepless night behind me, the day dawned somewhat gray and overcast. Despite the nervous energy going through me, I still don't rush. A slow shower settles my mind, as I start the day.

For all that it's never been a constant here, I take comfort in the solid familiarity of this room. White walls and clean tile, it's a speck of order on my otherwise chaotic life. The hot water streams down between my shoulder blades, and unbidden, memories surface as the heat seeps into me.

Hermione. Ron. Luna. Ginny. The DA in general float up in my mind's eye. The steam gives them form as I stare out at the other wall. What will they think of what I'm doing? What will they do? Is... can I really do this?

_Can you _not_ do this, pup?_ Sirius' voice shatters my doubt, and again my resolve snaps back into place. Too much is already done, for me to back out now. For good or ill, I'll follow through, if only because it's the right thing to do, committed as I am.

I slip on a set of clothes that Petunia has gotten for me, a single set of semi-formal clothes that were my own size. When she and Vernon had talked about what was going on, my plans and plots, she'd gotten an appraising look in her eye, and mentioned that she had an errand the next day. Color me surprised that she'd gone to the trouble of acquiring for me a suit.

Amusement colors my thoughts. Irony, that after this, she'd pick out Slytherin colors for it. I can't really blame her, as with my eyes, green highlights in the tie and small points on the pinstripes in an otherwise black material would be obvious. I can't even complain – I look good. If a bit too severe for someone only a few weeks shy of their sixteenth birthday.

That thought makes me wince. One more year of uncertainty... can I manage? Can I afford not to? Despite what turmoil I feel, I know that my own path is set, and my feet will follow. It's just nerves acting on me, knowing that it's the other parts of the plan that can fall through so spectacularly. Parts dependent on Dumbledore. Nerves give way to anger, as the time approaches. There's no room for uncertainty, tonight, and if I need to be riding the high of my rage to get past the awkwardness that seems keen to make me stumble and hesitate, then so be it.

Noon is slow to come, but when it finally does, I walk down, my possessions all stowed in the trunk I'd ordered from a mail order catalog. Out in the den, it's waiting for me to shrink and stow, as Hedwig is winging her way to a safe location, with a letter asking for it's recipient to keep her well fed and a promise of payment for it on her leg. I can only hope I'm safe by the time she's on the way back to me. That day I'd spent a few minutes just chatting, petting and spending time with her. It was odd, thinking that in a few short hours I'd be putting things so fully up to chance I may not see her for weeks. It made me miss her, before we'd even parted. That ended, as laughing I rubbed at the finger she'd nipped hard. "No, neither of us are stupid. Pity those that stand in our way," I joke, but the laugh stops when she turns her bright eyes to me and bobs her head once.

Now, all preparation done and my goodbyes said, I'm on the front lawn. Though for all the planning and agreement at this grudging solution to both our plans, the Dursleys and I still share no lost love. Brief well wishes, a clipped hope for a good trip, and a recap of schedules took less than five minutes. The Order medallion I'd liberated from my guard is in my hand, and I can practically feel the anticipation from someone, nearby. "Come out," I call, but obviously they don't answer. Pity.

Shrugging, I quickly tap the phoenix medallion with my wand, hearing the beginnings of muttered swearing as the portkey grabs hold of me and pulls me along behind.

-

* * *

-

Grimmauld was no better off than I remember. Still dull and bleak from outside, I'm faintly glad that Sirius left me the place, but asked I allow the Order to maintain it's use. I'd asked the bank what I could do about the Fidelius but the goblin assigned to me simply shrugged. Apparently, there were quite a number of homes that had been lost due to this same issue. I boggled at that. How many homes were out there, lost to the world because their secret-keeper and the actual owners weren't one and the same, and something happened to prevent the ward from being removed?

Questions for another time, and ones likely Hermione would enjoy.

Quieting the butterflies in my stomach that insisted on making an appearance today, I walk smartly up to the door and rap on it soundly. My goal, my intent settles down on me like a mask, and it feels like Padfoot is by my side, offering me strength.

When Molly answers the door, a sour look on her face, I'm not surprised. I have after all let Albus have a week to get his people firmly prepared. Drawing herself up she stands in the doorway, not looking to let me pass. My eyes narrow, as a count of five passes. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Move out of my way, Mrs. Weasley. This is after all my house – I don't quite think it proper for you to keep me waiting on the stoop," Ron, forgive me, but if I show weakness now, there's no telling how far it'll go.

Flummoxed by my utter lack of warmth, the words and my demeanor, the woman stumbles back long enough for me to cross the doorway. Passing inside and passing her, I regard the sleeping portrait or Walburga, and something crosses my mind.

Walking right up to the curtains, I yank them back with a hiss, barely catching a startled look from Mrs. Weasley behind me.

The ancient Dame Black seems just as startled, and before she can begin her tirade, I hush her with a question. "Lady Black, do you recall your lineage, and family well?"

Drawing herself up proudly, the old woman's image nods smartly to me, tone full of disdain. "Indeed I do, young man. This Ancient House has been home to generations of my family, and it is an honor to be a part of it. Of course I recall it."

Nodding to the ancient portrait, I carefully consider what my next words will be. "Do you recall then... " pausing in thought, my brow furrowed. "Dorea's husband. Cygnus' daughter."

Walburga's eyes narrowed, then flew open. "By my blood, you are the image of Charlus. He was much older than Dorea, the gentle girl, but they were quite happy with their pairing,"

I found myself surprised that I was smiling faintly as the lighter expression seemed to lift years from the woman's face. Breathing a sigh of relief, it seemed Walburga didn't hate my grandfather, at least. "I'm pleased to know I resemble him. Do you remember Dorea and Charlus well?"

Nodding with a slight smile, the portrait regards me with a look I'd seen often enough – open appraisal. "Yes young man I do. Would you like to hear about your family, some time? It is part of my charge, that has gone too long unused. To keep the family's history, and pass it along to those that come after."

Smiling genuinely and bowing to the august Lady Black, I go about tying the curtains back, allowing the portrait free view of the hall. "I'd like that very much, actually. Sadly I cannot do so now, as I have business with those who have taken up residence here."

Her grumblings began, but died of in a moment as she spied my somewhat bitter expression. Intentional, to be sure, but I think she was aware enough. The very slight quirk of her lip at least gave me a hint as such. "Indeed. What was your name, young man?"

"Harry Potter, ma'am."

"Very well, Mr. Potter. I see that my estranged son has finally done some good with the family name." I refuse to bristle at this, as in all truth, Sirius hadn't really done much with his name, other than try to squeeze every bit of use from it in school. Still, the woman's image didn't need to be put back into her rages again. This peace was rather pleasant. "I await your pleasure at a future time," she says as way of parting, and with an appreciative nod, thanks me for opening her blinds as she turns and leaves the frame.

Breathing a sigh of relief, unbelieving my luck in actually finding a source of information from so unlikely a source about my grandparents, I turn to the disbelieving stares of Molly, Arthur and beyond them half the Order by looks. Painting my own expression of annoyance, I take the next step in cementing things into going my way. "Kreacher!"

With a pop, the wizened and horrid little elf appears before me, looking just as surprised as the Order behind him. Eyes full of fear, he looks up at me and then, without preamble falls to his knees. "Oh, master, please let old Kreacher punish himself for his wrongs," more platitudes fall out of the thing's mouth, but after his initial appearance I'm as gobsmacked as the Order. Their reason of course, being that if Kreacher was calling me master, that meant that Grimmauld had become mine. My reason being the little beast's complete turn in behavior.

Quickly regaining my balance I glare down at the elf. Dobby may be free, but I'd spent enough time in the kitchens to understand the basics on elf behavior. I think. "Get up, Kreacher. I have tasks for you." Without delay the little elf rises, and to my surprise seems... clear-headed. Shrugging that off for the time being, I make a show of wiping a thick caking of dust from the molding by Walbuga's portrait. "What kind of elf leaves the Ancient Home of his masters for fall into such disarray?"

Wringing his ears in gnarled hands, it was like I had held the elf above hot coals. Perturbed to an extreme, he bowed low and mumbled apologies, but again I cut him off. "See to the home, and take what things you've ferreted away to the master bedroom. Prepare it for me, I'll be briefly staying there."

"Master, that room is currently occupied now," looking up at me with open hope, I offer the elf a feral grin.

I'd not forgotten who lived in the master bedroom, after all. "Move Witherwings to the basement, and arrange to extend the the cellar to allow him some time out in the grounds."

Drawing itself up with gleaming eyes, Kreacher snaps his fingers and is about his tasks.

Raising my eyes back to those staring openly at me now, I let my lips draw down slightly. "Yes?"

"Who are you-"

"-and what have you done with Harry Potter?" The Twin's typical shared speech forces me to let a little mirth break through my mask.

Mentally, I take a deep breath. I can't break, not yet. Sirius give me strength. "I'm a bit less the Harry I was, and a bit more the Harry Sirius never got the chance to be Godfather to," winces and eyes darting away from me are the reactions to that, and for all the sadness the same statement brings, I don't let it touch me. _Yet_. It also buys me precious moments to get past everyone and into the main foyer and the stairs leading up to drawing room. Once there I close the doors and bang my head back into them.

"What am I doing," the words are quiet, but the last thing I'd expected was an answer.

"That's an excellent question Harry. What are you doing?" Which is why when Hermione stood and crossed her arms, letting the massive book she was reading simply fall onto the table in front of her, I just boggled.

A handful of moments pass, but they don't do so silently. With a rush, Hermione is crossing the room and pulling me away from the doors, her arms wrapped around me in a crushing hug. I can't help it. All the fear and uncertainty that's been haunting me since I started this, hell some of it from long before I met the brilliant witch even, slams into me and in a moment, I'm shuddering like a first year before sorting again.

"Damn it all, why'd it have to be him?" I don't believe how much hurt is still in me, over Sirius. I've been good at fooling myself so far, but here... now, it's breaking loose, and breaking me with it. "I... damn it. I need him, Hermione. I don't have anyone else." As the words leave my mouth, I wince, knowing them to be a lie. Before Hermione can pull away I stop her, my hands holding onto her upper arms firmly. "No, no, that's wrong. I have people who care and worry and work themselves to death over me." Sighing, I wait for her to look back up at me with those deep, fathomless eyes and shiver. "Don't take it wrong, Hermione. Just... remember what's happened."

Nodding, she relents and her small form collapses back against me. One of her hands is trapped between us, curling around the breast of my jacket as she'd been using it to press against me, trying to push away. I find the accidental contact... comfortable.

We stand there, silent for maybe two minutes, till I start to feel like I should be letting her go. Not that I want to. Quite the opposite. Compromising I gesture to the couches, and we sit, both a bit closer than we usually do. Clearing my throat, I try to keep my eyes from drifting too often to her own – oddly they affect me more than most other female charms I'd become acutely aware of over time. "Did you get my letter?"

She nods and with a light blush that confuses me, pulls it from a pocket. The paper is wrinkled and worn looking already, and I wonder if she's washed it accidentally with her clothes, but then I note how carefully she treats it. "Hermione..."

"I read it a lot. It... I've been thinking."

There's a different Hermione, than most see. Almost all of Hogwarts knows the other Hermione, the one not sitting with me today. That young woman is all fire, bluster and focus – she breaks down expectations with casual ease, and then proceeds to dazzle the world with her wit and mind. Then, there's this Hermione. I'd like to pretend, and say it's our Hermione, mine and Ron's, but I'd be fooling myself. Ron never sees her. He won't let go of the petty arguments with her long enough for what I'm slowly learning is the real young witch behind the books to emerge.

Maybe that's why I'm growing more and more impatient, intolerant to him. He's been more like a brother to me than Dudley ever was, but in time I began to see that he was my friend for the very same reasons he uses to push me away. Beyond me, there's Hermione... their arguments and the odd way they just gravitated to one another. It bothers me to know that this Hermione... the real one, is mine, but...

But what? That she's also _not_ mine? Reaching up, I run a hand through my hair and try to sort out my head, but it's no bloody good. It's been getting worse since the Tri-Wizard, and now with so much on the line, there was a chink in my armor. Sneering to myself, I have to admit, it's less a chink, as a big bloody hole.

A Hermione shaped one, at that.

It takes me a few moments to clear my head, but I manage it and without much waver to my voice reply, "What have you been thinking?"

In a rush she starts talking, and it takes me a moment to untangle the snarl of ideas. What I gather is that she's planning on sending her parents away, far from the war. With an eerie kind of déjà vu I listen, as she talks about planning to obliviate, then trick her parents into going to Australia. Then to my horror, after she manages to catch her breath, she talks about studying memory charms and that the safest thing for her to do... would be modify their memory so she wasn't in it.

"... I don't know if... if I can. They're still my parents Harry! And I don't know, but I'm thinking about joining them, if it means they don't forget me."

I swallow, hard. "Hermione, I can understand why you want to run from this. I mean look at what's happened." Shaking my head I run a finger along the crease in the note she's still clutching. The worn paper seems too warm to me. "We... we came to Hogwarts to find a dream. To live in a better world, didn't we?" Her eyes went wide, but still she nodded slowly. "Instead we find danger, find out that," I pause and lean my head back. Closing my eyes to keep from seeing her, my mind clears somewhat. "Find that this world either accepts us for something we aren't, or damns us for what we are."

The wince in her voice is obvious. "You know, then? About the Ministry, and how deep the bias is?"

"It made sense after hearing what office Mr. Weasley was a part of. Then again when I started paying attention to people after second year." Still hiding behind closed eyes, I scoff quietly. "Then last year I asked Susan to name off ten half-blood or muggle-born people she knew of in the Ministry. You know who she came up with?

"Tonks. If it weren't for Moody's influence I somewhat doubt even she'd be as far along." Reaching up, I try to work out the knot of tension that's hammering at my temple. "Not that I mind her, she's a great person. It's just she's the exception to the rule here."

"It's true though," I hazard to open my eyes, and look on Hermione's face breaks my heart. "I mean... none of our teachers are half-blood, that we know of. Not that it seems they'd admit it if they were." Bristling, she went on, "but the Ministry! You're right. Maybe ten percent of it is staffed by half-bloods, and those positions aren't even in the upper echelons! It's stupid, Harry. What's the point of me... of me trying so hard if they won't even see it!"

"Do it for your own sake," I say, but the words sound hollow. I know she wants to do amazing things in her life, with her knowledge and keen mind, but the world as it stands simply doesn't seem capable of letting her. Rather, the wizarding world. I wonder how far behind she is, due to wasting her time on Hogwarts, and the bitterness of that thought nearly cracks my facade of calm.

To my surprise she nods to this. "Oh, I probably will. But it may not be at Hogwarts," shaking her head to keep me quiet, the young witch goes on shortly, regaining her composure. "I'm just old enough to start universities. I can do my entry tests and still be eligible for scholarships and grants, and not get behind. As for magic," unconsciously she runs a hand along the line that the spell Dolohov cast that cut across her, and I wince. "As for magic, maybe I'll just study on my own. If I can't get a job in the wizarding world, why should I try so hard to meet their standards. Hah! I'll never be good enough. Never! All because my parents aren't bloody related to one another three generations back and gave a damn about the danger of inbreeding? Have you _looked_ at wizarding genealogies, Harry?" As she went on, Hermione's voice rose, and by the time she was done, pointing to the Black Family Tree that was on the wall with it's blast marks and all, she was all but screaming. I can't say I'm proud to have wound her up as tight as me so quick, but I am glad she's thinking in ways that take in the whole picture. Hermione two years ago wouldn't dream of questioning the system, but _my_ Hermione, this Hermione, had a chance.

Taking her by the shoulders, I lean down and look into her eyes, willing calm into her. "Hermione, hey." She tried to shake me off, but like her, I'm stubborn. "Hey, look at me." Finally, she takes a breath and I feel a little of the tension leave her. "I know, alright? If I could change it I would. It's just beyond me... hell I think it's beyond them," matching her wave to the wall, I stand and reaching down, I pull her along with me. We stop at a familiar pair of names, and I reach up to trace the "D" in Dorea's name.

"You think maybe in a generation or two they'll catch up to us?"

I laugh quietly at her question. Shaking my head, I let a grin slip along my lips, "Maybe me. It'll take them about five to catch up to you though." I get a punch in the arm for my humor and seeing her smile, I return it. "And when did you start swearing, Ms. Granger?"

Blinking in surprise, she punches me again. "It was warranted. And you keep quiet about it."

"Yes, dear," I chirp and the smile I'm wearing falters, when something unfamiliar crosses her expression. "Hermione?"

Shaking her head as if to clear it, she smiles again and shrugs, the moment gone. "What?"

Unsure, I just shrug. Instead of treading unknown ground, I try to figure out how much of her own plans I seem to be following on my own. "Um. Do you... that is, have you already started arranging things for your parents?"

We talk briefly of family, hers, and how on her mother's side there was a branch of the family with some unused land there. Easily enough, she'd managed to convince them that it may be a good idea to move, while separating herself from the ideas of danger. Effectively, she'd turned it into a wizarding world issue, rather than a 'friend of the Boy-Who-Lived' one. I was touched she'd work so hard to do that, but when I comment on it, she waved it off.

Inevitably she asks me about Sirius, and how I am. Truthfully I answer, "I'm a mess. I can barely keep my head on right. Since the end of term I've been so angry, and it all comes back to Dumbledore."

Her eyes narrow, which I expect. "Harry, he's tried to help you-"

"No, he's tried to control me," I snap back, and wince as she draws back at the venom in my tone. "Look, there are parts of this that you don't know. Sirius was kept here, against his will just like Azkaban. Can you imagine that? After finally being free again?"

"He was a wanted criminal Harry, what could they do? If he was out more, someone would have seen him," she's smart, damn it. I know she is. But why can't she see this?

I stand, and she blinks up at me. "He had his own life, Hermione. Did you know that Dumbledore knew Peter was the secret keeper? What point did it serve for Sirius to be put away? Think about that." My voice had gone brittle, but the words kept on. I wanted them to stop, but my heart was too full, to stopper now, "Why keep the one person in a position to give me a life I'd want to live, locked away and away from me, for so long? And again, when he finally managed to break out of the most dangerous prison in our – excuse me – the wizarding world?" I left her sitting on the couch staring after me, and it felt like each step was lock on a door, that I was breaking the keys off in as I turned them. "Why each year, was there some lie, some half truth or threat? Why each year was I not told what it is I'm supposed to do? One man knows all this, Hermione. You're not stupid, and neither am I. But unlike me, you still trust people who've betrayed your trust in them."

With a note of bitter finality, I close the door behind me, on the one friend I'd miss above all others. How many more bridges did I have left, I wonder as my feet take me back down the steps, pointedly ignoring the strands of the Twin's Extendable Ears as I storm the main steps. Maybe I should wonder why I know Dumbledore has arrived, but I don't. For now, let Fate throw me what clues she wants, on how to properly burn Rome. I have my lyre. Nero would be proud.

-

* * *

-

As I walk down the main stairs, I can hear Dame Black winding up. I can only imagine why, but as I turn the corner I see the form of Albus moving to undo the gathers I'd placed on her old curtains. "Leave them be," I say with enough force to make the man pause and turn.

"Good afternoon, Harry. I was just about to loose these so our esteemed Lady Black won't be troubled by our comings and goings."

"And I said leave them be. If you insist on putting your hands all about other people's business, one day you're going to get bit by something with rather nasty teeth," I caustically reply, crossing my arms and staring right back at the man. I lean into my anger, and let the tempest gain, inside my mind. Here I have strength, here I have resolve. I don't worry on the defiance and disregard I'm showing Dumbledore. After tonight, he'll either show himself an ally or enemy. At this point, the concern is my relative, and his disregard to my property.

As if there is some cosmic balance that needs to be maintained, Molly fills the air where Dame Black is silent. "Harry James Potter you apologize for such disrespect this instant! I cannot believe the young man I took into my home could be so... so..." faintly vibrating with irritation, she makes a gesture at me as if to simply fan my apology out of me.

Letting my gaze roll between the two, I rest it again on Dumbledore. "Why should I show respect to the disrespectful?" As I cross the doorway to the kitchens, I can't help but wonder what the Order does with this house. Can't help wonder why Sirius wanted it left to them, to continue to do as they willed with it. Maybe he found it some supreme irony that his prison would be theirs. Not literally of course, but I have seen first hand how capable the Order is. The DA, all six of us, held off the Death Eaters until they arrived, and it was one of them, that ended that battle. Not one of the Order was a match for a Death Eater, except possibly Sirius, and now he was lost. Dumbledore's sheer power ended that battle, but the Order did less than even our least DA member. I held no illusions at these people, and their lack of resolve, lack of capability. This place was their haven, but it was a bunker, with it's locks on the outside.

The Order was an excuse. A hideaway, for idealists and those without the ability to stand on their own. Maybe once it was something else, but now... no. _And there's the rub, pup_, Sirius' voice ghosted into my mind. _Had these people any real mettle, any real ability, they'd be Aurors, those that aren't. Had they real worth, Voldemort would have already killed them for the threat they presented. Spies_. My eyes snapped to Snape's pinched face. _Layabouts_. Mundungus's odor, if not his presence was apparent. _Hopefuls that were blinded by tales of the past_. Tonks sat between Shacklebolt and Moody, eying me curiously. _Those trying desperately to atone_, Lupin was there, looking like he'd been pushed through the Whomping Willow during a windstorm. _And of course, the sheep_, Sirius' tone went dark and disdainful as my eyes roved over Mrs. Weasley, still on a rant that I'd apparently gone deaf to.

My mind clear of Padfoot's critical assessment, I blink and pull myself forward to now. "Dumbledore, I do not recall requesting this be an Order meeting. I take it that a meeting simply between you and I was too important to leave them out of?" Chancing to look behind me, I catch some surprise from the people at the table, but only an amused glint from the Headmaster.

So be it. "Very well." Turning back to the table, I spot the woman who tried to stop me a week prior. Odd, she seemed to be regarding me with less anger than I'd expect. "Did you get your wand, from when I Owled it back here?"

"I did, Harry." With a curt nod, she went back to regarding nothing intently, but I could see some of the faces questioning this exchange.

Lupin turned to the woman, confusion clear on his features, "Emmie, what is he talking about?"

"A matter of no consequence," Dumbledore replied without any real attention as he swept in from behind me.

Oh no you don't, "True, my guards and the ease I manage to break free of them isn't terribly important at this point." I dismiss the matter with the same idle nonchalance I've learned from a professional.

I meet Albus' intent gaze with one of my own. Shortly, he begins to call the meeting to order, but with one interesting note, "And Harry, if you will wait in the next room I'll call upon you once important matters of the Order are attended to."

Shrugging, I roll my shoulders once. "No."

A brittle silence falls over the room, only to be broken by Snape. "Headmaster, plainly the small freedoms you've allowed the boy have taken what little sense he's scavenged and rattled it out of that vacuous head of his," glancing my way with a rise of his chin, Snape dismisses my presence with a sniff. "Send him back to his home."

Oh if you only knew, Snivellus. Turning back to Dumbledore, I had to repress a grin as the image of Nero flashed through my mind again. Perhaps I'll wear a toga to the next welcoming feast. "Kreacher," I call out quietly, and instantly the elf appears, scraping the floor with his ears. "Are my quarters prepared?"

"Yes, the master bedroom is in order, and the items-"

"That will be all, Kreacher. Seal the room, and take this," laying the self-shrinking trunk down beside me, I nod to it. "Can you restore and arrange those things in the room?" When the elf nodded, I turned and regarded the Order again. "You are dismissed, Kreacher."

The silence that greets me this time isn't brittle, but electric. I have little doubt that the elf's behavior, and sudden change in attitude, have gone unnoticed. Before Dumbledore can rise and diminish my display, I push off the wall and cross my arms again, regarding the room and those present with a cold assessment, but behind my eyes the tempest is rising. I can't show weakness here, and again I'm leaning into my anger to give me strength. "If you insist on playing this game, Dumbledore, then I'll meet you move for move. We speak of my matters, the ones I insisted on last week, now."

Three pairs of eyes go immediately hostile. The first of them to match glares with words, is unsurprisingly Mrs. Weasley, "Merlin Harry, I don't know what's gotten into you, but enough is enough, now-"

"KREACHER!" My bellow startles everyone and silences Molly, as with a crack my elf is standing before me again, glaring about the table as if reading my thoughts. "Can and will you forcibly remove anyone I wish from this home?"

"I serve the lord of this house, as my ancestors did before me," the gnarled elf answers, nodding once with a short bow to me.

I sweep the table with a glare. "Any other objections? I'm inclined to follow the wishes of the previous owner of this place less and less with every moment you," pointing directly at Dumbledore I fix my eyes on him, and the surge of abject hate in my mind almost stills me. "Every moment you allow this farce to go on. Now, either we stop this bullshit, or I start getting rash."

I see a calculating look pass between Snape and Dumbledore, and it tears down the last of my restraint. "Fine," I spit the word at the table. "You want an audience, you have one.

"I know the conditions of the wards on the home at Privet," I snap at Dumbledore, to which he shows no reply. Pulling a folded letter from my jacket, I reach a hand down to Kreacher. "A quill, sharp."

The feather touches my fingers, and I stab my thumb smartly with the tip. Smearing the drop that beads there across the bottom, I feel a faint surge of _something_, and a chirping chime peals out at the head of the table. Dumbledore's eyes go wide and he pulls an aged looking pocket watch from his robes, muttering in disbelief over and over again. Finally he looks up and with some surprise, I see fear in those blue eyes. "What have you done?"

Waving the parchment before me, fold it again and make to pocket it, but a silent summoning spell sends it flying to Dumbledore's hands. I smile, regardless. "Sirius' will had me pick my own guardians. I chose the Dursleys."

Everyone here apparently knew why that sounded like madness, and the table erupted in a riot of noise. Above it, Dumbledore was shouting orders, "Severus, go retrieve them, and be quick! We can still undo this-"

"No, you can't." Though I'd spoken at a normal tone, the table goes silent. "The wards are gone. There is no home to return to. That form was a final piece, assuring it."

"Why Harry? Why give up the one, faultless protection from the Dark Lord? Why throw away your family's safety? Do you care so-"

"Oh shut _up_, do you really like to hear yourself speak so much?" Rage feeds me, keeps me strong. "They're _gone_, on their way far, far from you, and from your war. I made sure they were taken care of, where despite all your posturing, they wouldn't be." Dumbledore pauses, as if confused by my words. No, I realize, he truly is! "You don't... hah. You don't see it, do you?

"Do you think that after my seventeenth birthday, they'd still have protections? Yours? _Mine_?" Sneering I go on, my feet carrying me back and forth at the far end of the table. "They'd have died from this, and you know it. If I hadn't gotten the truth from my aunt about how you described the wards, they'd have been there waiting for the torch!"

"But... what was that form?" Molly was ashen, as the battle from opposite ends of the table washed over them all. At this point I honestly don't care how I seem. These people put their lot behind the man who has had a hand in every aspect of my fate, from the charm that failed my parents, to the prison I had to call home. I was done being a tool. Let their opinions fan Rome's fire.

"An order of demolition, to be carried out by Gringott's, by muggle proxy," I say evenly. "As of..." I tap my chin, and shrug, "a few hours ago, the Dursleys are moving. Already on their way, actually. The house was sold to the Potter estate days ago, but still counted for all intents and purposes for the wards, as we all could still consider it home. Now? It's just a docket number for a wrecking squad." Punching down at the table, I get their attention. "You locked me in a prison, as surely as you did Sirius. You pushed us both to extremes to shrug off your damned agendas. I offered you an olive branch, and you set it on fire, Old Man," leaning forward on my hands, I glare out at Albus and his still unbelieving expression. "There isn't a prison to send me back to, now. _No more!_"

Finally he looks up from the form, and I almost, _almost_ believe the pained expression genuine till he opens his mouth. "You would... dishonor your mother's sacrifice so casually?"

I hear... _something_, like a deep, heavy wind. As my vision goes nearly opaque at the edges in red, a quake runs through me, down my arms. Alarm shoots through the faces at the table, as the surge blasts out of me and strikes Dumbledore, sending him reeling back and out of his chair. Alarm becomes shock as the man strikes a cupboard and bounces forward, stumbling down to catch himself on hands and knees.

"Harry!" "Calm yourself, cub!" "Uncontrolled brat..." "Firecall Pomfrey." All of the words washed over me, as I stood shaking from the burst of accidental magic that again set me to wavering like a leaf. Padfoot's image in my mind is dancing a jig, and the sudden... euphoria and exhaustion are too much for me. I start laughing.

Lupin is by my side, but he hesitates, eyes uncertain at the... I can only guess at the quality of my laughs. Sharp, barking and loud, I realize they're the kind of sounds he's used to hearing from another. A moment of worry spears through me, as I again wonder at what it means that Sirius' voice seems less and less to be the internal counsel of a my own differing perspectives, but something else.

With one last, mirthless chuckle, my own, I look out at the table. "Get out. All of you except Remus and the DA are no longer welcome here. Kreacher!"

With a pop, the elf is before me yet again. An idle part me wonders if he's tired of being treated like a yo-yo. To my surprise, he gestures and I feel myself lighter, the weariness less taxing. Ah. Featherlight charm. "Master?"

I smile wryly at the elf, as it draws itself up. "Escort the Order from the house, excluding Lupin and the DA. Contact Gringott's and have the arrangements to break the Fidelius, and replace it started – but it must be secure. Do any others know that the Order has called this place home?" I talk as I walk, Lupin by my elbow. I halt as the small elf seems pained, but I know why.

"You've told others?"

Quaking with either anticipation or just some personal guilt, Kreacher quietly replies, "Yes, master. What punishment do you wish?"

Shaking my head, I don't even feel the anger that I know should be pushing through me. "You're not at fault. I know Sirius left you to your own devices. I must know who else knows, though."

"Narcissa Malfoy, master. I went to her in desperation when the former master's orders allowed," fidgeting mightily, Kreacher seemed on the verge of some personal violence, but thankfully my weariness with the expenditure of accidental magic had the side effect of calming me quite well.

Despite it, the declaration worried me. "When you escort the Order out, take them to Hogwarts. Also... before you inform Gringott's to change the wards, seal the home. I'll think of what else to do soon. Wait for my order though, please."

"As you command," and with that, Kreacher was gone and I could hear the sounds of people and things being moved, arranged and in at least in one case, forcefully tossed through the floo. Apparently Kreacher's own remorse made him as reactive as my anger did me.

"Harry," Lupin's voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it. No wonder really, I'd just effectively uprooted the one 'light' organization in wizarding Britain and set them out of my door on their arse. "What's going on? I know you're upset, but..."

"This is a little much?" I finish tiredly for him. "Yes, it is. I seem unable to do things halfway," I mutter, stumbling into the now refurbished room on the third floor and unceremoniously falling face first onto the bed there. Faintly I wonder why I didn't pick the room one floor up, but then recall that likely it's in a rather sad state, after the last time I was here. This room wasn't picked for comfort, so much as a statement.

Remus is sitting watching me, as my mind winds down. It amuses me; he's always been the mature one. The sane one. Odd how he's also the one with the furry problem. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Right as rain after a nap, Moony," I reply, rolling onto my back, reaching up to pull my glasses off and set them on the side of the huge bed. "I promise to clear this up then." I let the day go, let myself go with it. Too tired to keep on, I simply... stop.

Faintly I'm aware of Moony leaving the room with a startled expression, and the vague recognition of a familiar voice, before sleep claims me.

-

* * *

-

I dream... not nightmares but yet again I find myself at the Department of Mysteries, only this time the perspective is changed. No, it's correct... somehow. Things are hazy, but shortly they pull into focus, and my sense of vertigo lessens. I'm arriving late, but know that things aren't so bad yet. We come in via one of secure floos thanks to Shacklebolt, and make our way down, hoping that the lead Snape has given us was enough. No sign of trouble before us, the Order lightens it's step.

Things shortly start to feel wrong. Lupin halts, a horrified look on his face with his head tilted to the side, listening... werewolf senses. Oh no.

"They're already here!" His call is the spur that moves us, and we're racing along the convoluted halls, down past blast marks on walls, and here a light smear of blood. I see, or rather hear Lupin go to it and sniff deeply, eyes half closed. "Longbottom," he decrees after a moment, and my blood goes cold. Oh Merlin, the children... let them be alive. Let Harry be alright...

We're on the move again, and now I can hear the jeers and taunts of those damned traitors. I can easily make out Bella's baby talk taunts, and hope she's not so far gone as to have forgotten the promise I pulled from her. Shaking my head hard such things are forgotten – shortly we're there, and the battle is joined.

The room is huge, and full of spells and the calls of battle. I look at the arch and feel the liquid pull in my veins from the ritual, half done at the Old Home. Forcing my attention away from it, I watch the Aurors rush to war, as they pick out opponents. To my horror I see 'Dora pick out Bella and start to trade curses.

I try to help, to move to keep things to plan, but some masked fool steps in the way. Shacklebolt is occupied with two Masks, and my cousin is losing ground to Bella's rage. Dumbledore's edicts be damned – where is he anyway?! He was supposed to be here! Casting aside stunning curses and binding spells, I cast two fast reductors – one at the floor directly before my opponent, another at waist level. Debris flies up and then becomes a rain of hell and the man falls. I see another wizard, close by taking aim at Harry with an elaborate curse that must be a variant on a flame whip. I'm too late but Harry's shield holds for the moment, so I drop low and sack the bastard in a rugby tackle like Frank taught me.

Side by side, it's like old times... I try not to see James in the young man but it's hard. I pull the Death Eater out of a defensive stance with some taunts and a few well-places spells and with just a moment's work Harry has him bound. I stun him for good measure, watching the body fall with a crash.

So does 'Dora. Rushing over with a yell I see her winded but unhurt, and spare my errant cousin a look.

Bella returns it, cool black eyes regarding me with more sanity than I've seen in ages. She mouths a word, and part of me understands it. Steeling myself we begin the dance... It feels like hours... she's good. Very good. Time in Azkaban did little to dull her skills, unlike me. I remember the taunts and jeers she'd launched before we arrived and know that her war is still raging, one that she'll lose before the night. One I need her to lose.

The chamber is quiet! I spare a glance and see the Old Coot summoning a Death Eater into a pile of his fellows. Damn it! Out of time! Rounding on her and dodging a stunning curse I push, "Come on! You can do better than that!"

It's a gamble. A taunt that got us both nastily disciplined when we were younger. Racing brooms about the countryside I'd used that same phrase, same tone to get her to chase me into a tightly grown orchard. That same phrase landed her in St. Mungo's for weeks, when she pushed herself too hard in that same race and took a sturdy branch at full tilt, knocking wind and nearly her head loose in the process.

I feel, more than see the light in her eyes change. I smile, and it has nothing to do with mocking or taunts and she returns it, a sad pull at the edge of her eyes. Spells fly faster and-

It's starting. I lock eyes with Harry, knowing he's watching me, but for all my preparations I still feel fear, and a little rush of surprise that my cousin followed through. I knew what this would cost her – as did she. Too far gone for any kind of redemption, and seeking it not one bit, she's as devoted to her path as I am. This is as much a favor to her as she's doing for me... and I hate myself for it. She's suffered with the kernel of her old self festering inside for so long, and irony mocks me again. Here, I'm indulging in the border of the Darkest Art, and she is desperately warring to kill what little good is left inside her. We both know that she wouldn't, as she is, be able to hurt or act against the Family, which one day may cost Bella her life. For good or ill, the agreement is set. This is just one more necessary step. I hear her scream, the last few shreds of _my_ Bella dying with me.

Cold rips into me and I lock my eyes onto Harry. Shortly there's the wet, rending sound of something tearing and all I can feel is pain, but behind it is a purpose. The ritual catches me, part of me and with a jolt I feel... something again. Resistance, a sense of wrongness but I push, _hard_. What all of me there is throws itself into the effort. With a scream like something unholy seeing it's damnation the resistance falters, and I... anchor. _Forgive me, pup_.

_Forgive me, Harry_.

-

* * *

-

I wake in a cold sweat to the feel of someone's hand, smoothing my hair and calling my name softly. The world is a mass of shapes without edges, and I'm immediately on alert, but instinct kicks me and I reach up, fingers meeting the bridge of my nose without resistance. Glasses. I need my glasses.

_Resistance_.

A shudder goes through me, and I remember that sound. The unholy scream. My blindly grasping hand has my glasses pressed into it, and I look up to the currently featureless face behind me, turning and raising them to tuck the arms behind my ears.

"Hermione?" She offers me a small smile and the cobwebs retreat a little more. I'm in the master bedroom at Grimmauld, and she's... "What are you doing here?"

With a slight smile, she heaves a sigh, brow rising slightly. "You were having a bad dream again. I could hear you from the floor below, you know. My room is just below this one."

Shaking the afterimages out of my mind, I rub at the bridge of my nose, then slip a hand up to scrub at the mess of my hair. "Sorry," I murmur, still confused by the dream. I've never had that particular one before, it was... disturbing. I don't know if I prefer it or the nightmares, to be honest. "Did I wake you?"

Hermione chuckles slightly, where she's leaning up against the headboard. I realize with a start she's in her nightclothes, and her legs are tucked under my own blankets, and though I don't intend to, find myself staring at her. Staring, and drinking in the very obvious curves and soft contours of a young woman who is quickly becoming stunning in her own right. The motion of her light laughter sets a pattern of light that's hypnotizing across the material of her gown. She clears her throat quietly and my eyes wrench upward, where she's quirking a corner of her lip, dark eyes unreadable in this gloom. Her blush, though, has a glow I can readily see. "You woke much of the house. It was shaking, in fact."

That sets me to blinking in confusion. "House shaking?"

Chuckling, she flips me lightly on the forehead. "Not really, but you were thrashing about so much that it shook the dust from my ceiling somewhat. I ended up dreaming I was camping with my dad, and that it was raining on my tent." She laughs, and I pull my eyes hard up, avoiding that trap. It's not too hard, when I see the amused light in her eyes. "Imagine my amusement then the sound continues after I wake up." Confused, I scratch at my ear till she huffs with a roll of eyes, "The dust, falling on the canopy."

"Oh, right," laughing, more at my own denseness than anything, I start to relax back into the mattress. Mostly relax. There's still the very female, very warm presence beside me that I can't quite come to grips with just yet.

Looking back up, I see Hermione biting her lip, and know this is where the comfortable warm part of waking ends. "What's going on, Harry? You left the drawing room in a fit, I would have come after but the Twins were giving me this look, like I'd rather be in detention than go down there. Not that they stopped me," her nose goes into the air, and I try not to chuckle. I fail. "What?"

"Just thinking that they likely came out of tonight worse of than Dumbledore, for getting in your way."

"And there's that!" Hermione pokes me rather savagely in the shoulder, earning a wince. "By the time I get past Tweedle Dee and Dum, everyone's shouting, you look like you've been out at Quidditch practice, Lupin's pale as a ghost, and Kreacher is being civil!" Shaking her head hard, brown curls fly about and settle across her collar, distracting me, but not quite enough to miss her next words, "and then Molly is going spare about you attacking Dumbledore. Harry, what's going on?"

What can I tell her? Certainly not the prophecy. Though, perhaps it'd be the easiest way to finish the explanations. To her, it must look like I'd gone mad. Truthfully, I'm not sure I haven't. "Things between Dumbledore and I got rough. After the Ministry he told me some things that could have prevented all this. If it weren't for his half truths, manipulations and-"

She cuts me off, but it's not sharply. I can imagine it's just habit, feeling the need to defend someone from my own or Ron's suspicions so long. "Now, wait just a moment-"

"No, Hermione. It's not so simple this time. You may see it as keeping things I don't need to know from me, like him," she winces, but I know, and hopefully she knows it's not an insult, "but he expects me to trust him. I just can't. I can't just sit by and let this all play out anymore and pretend I'm blind. He had my trust, and broke it. And so far, he's made little effort to fix that situation."

Hermione regards me quietly for a few moments. I don't know, in this half darkness, what she's thinking. I'm so used to seeing all her emotions so easily. "I suppose, Harry, you're right. A lot doesn't make sense. I mean... for years Hogwarts has been so peaceful. Now it's like there's a curse there, and each year it gets worse. Obviously, it's about you, I've been there.

"Maybe there's a reason for why he feels that his way is best," she looks up, expecting me to interrupt but I'm quiet. I want her to think this out. Desperately, I want her to see things my way without needing to explain exhaustively how I came to those conclusions. "Maybe he knows something more than you do. I mean, how can he not, he's been... oh. Oh." I wait. I try to wait, and let her come to me with this.

How long has it been since it's just... me and someone that I don't need to explain, explain, explain everything to? Even here I'm leading her. Does it make me mad that I see this so clearly, while it seems the world has blinders on? Would it be the same, if the person who'd taken up my life as a pet project was someone with less celebrity about them?

Shortly, I feel Hermione's hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Harry. I've been... somewhat lacking as a friend, at times."

I shake my head, trying not to shy from her touch. It's not unpleasant. Just unfamiliar. "The world loves it's heroes, Hermione. He's done great things, but what's qualified him to be a guardian? To be my guardian? To take what steps he did with my life? Did no one bother to ask why?" Cooling my anger, I remember this is Hermione, not an enemy. "It's not your fault. You've had a life where people are what they seem. I've briefly met your parents, and they seem great. I'm _happy_ you've had that. It's just hard to relate sometimes, with how different things with me have been. Just try to remember that sometimes I do have reason for my... well. Strangeness I suppose."

"Ron's tiresome rants about the 'Boy-Who-Lived' and all his fame never seem to include meddling Headmasters, maddening families, or misinformed friends," she says with a grin. Despite the serious subject, I laugh quietly with her.

Grateful for the change in subject, even if it's not one I'm truly keen on, I nonetheless grasp the opportunity, "So how are you and Ron getting along?" Hermione turns her head, and I wonder if I've really messed up this time. Instead of drawing away though, her hand clenches at my shoulder. "Hermione?"

She looks back and there's an insincere smile on her face, and I can guess what's happened. Well, the general idea. There really is no telling with these two on what they'll argue about. "We're alright. He and the Weasleys are back in the Burrow for a while, after the meeting."

"Wait, I remember saying the DA could stay-"

"But you tossed out the Order." Shrugging, Hermione's tone had gone colder, but I really didn't know what part of the situation was earning it. "So with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley leaving, the family went with."

"Th-Then who else is here?"

"Just me, and Lupin," she replies quietly. Yawning, she covers her mouth with a hand and looks at me steadily. "Is it alright if I stay? I'm afraid the more time I spend around my parents while they're starting this move, the more likely they'll back down. Plus..." sighing, she leaned down and smoothed my hair back again, like when I woke. "I think you could use some help."

I'd initially been somewhat panicked to hear it was only us and Lupin in the home, but now I'm grateful. I really could use some help with this, and to be honest, if I had a choice between anyone in the DA or Hogwarts, Hermione and Lupin are the two I'd pick. "Still, you should spend some time with them," I argue, thinking back on her parents. I know she's fond of them, otherwise she'd not be taking these steps, but-

"If I have to use that memory charm, Harry, the last thing I want to do is stay with them all summer. It's really as much for me as them."

I don't pursue it. The brittle way her voice is, is reason enough. The silence gives me time to look around, and my own clumsy stumbling conversation keeps me quiet enough to notice the state of the room. "How long was I asleep?"

"A few hours, I think."

"What?" I blink and look around worriedly, but her hands pull me back down, pushing me back into my pillow. Only then do I notice the darkened windows and the lack of light coming from under the door, where almost always there was some hint at illumination from the stairwell chandelier. "What time is it?"

She raises a hand, and works with her watch a moment. "Only a bit after one. You were sleeping most of the afternoon."

That wakes me fully, and pulls me out of the warm torpor I'd been enjoying so long. "What? Oh, how could I have slept," shaking myself fully awake, I throw back the blankets despite Hermione's small noise of complaint. "Kreacher!"

"Master?" Appearing with a muted pop, the wizened elf appears, regarding me with quiet worry. "Does master require aid?"

Shaking my head, I realize I've made a rather steep error, but will deal with Hermione's ire later. More pressing matters are on my mind. "What news of the Order and tonight's activities?"

The lights dim and rise, at Kreacher's gesture. "The house is sealed, no floo calls or comings or goings are allowed. Also, the house wards versus portkeys and apparition are active. Gringott's is pending your approval to strip and reapply the Fidelius, and I've taken the liberty of contacting Lady Malfoy on your behalf."

I blink at this last item, where all others seemed to be in order. "Narcissa? Why?"

"I believe she has a favor, to ask of you, at your convenience."

Too much just after waking, I grumble and fall back onto the bed. Hermione is standing, and coming around to me, by the sound of her footsteps. Bugger. "Harry, just what is the meaning of all this?"

Unable to keep the exasperation from my tone, I crack an eye and regard her. "Which this? The ousting the Order this? The Lady Malfoy needing a favor this? The demolishing my previous home at Privet this? Don't tell me you mean the house elf this, as that's really not on my radar at the moment, Hermione." Wincing, she holds her tongue but I can see it's not a simple effort. "Look. I'll try to explain, but I have to see to some things first. If you want to help, or sit in, that's fine... I could probably use the support."

Snorting, she starts walking quickly to the door of the bedroom. "You couldn't keep me away. I'll just be a moment putting on a robe."

The door shuts behind her, and I let my head fall back on the mattress. "Kreacher, you've served the Blacks since Walburga was alive, haven't you?"

"Yes, master. I've served since her father's late days."

Nodding slowly, I try to fathom what favor Narcissa could want... but where my own mind fails, the dream easily supplies the answer. "Lucius."

With a polite bow, Kreacher offers as much a reply as I'm likely to get. Pulling my glasses off, I run a hand over my face and wish that today had never begun. Rising again, I look at my crumpled suit and wince. "Is there... are there some robes I can wear, here? If I need to speak to the Malfoys, I can't do so looking like I've been sleeping in my clothes. Despite sleeping in my clothes."

Regarding me shrewdly, the elf tilts his head. "Would master prefer a clean suit as he wears, or robes?"

Considering the options I look at the suit and nod slowly. "Suit, given the choice. I was never terribly comfortable in formal robes."

"I will try to obtain some for master's pleasure at a later time. Proper robes are a joy," regardless of his small rebuttal, Kreacher snaps his fingers and a I feel as if a stiff wind pushed through my suit, and the lingering tingle of close magic. Looking at myself again, the corner of my mouth rises in a grin. Kreacher bows once, and is gone before I can thank him. Straightening my hair as much as it'll allow, I fix my glasses and unshrink the trunk with my belongings.

It only takes a moment, but in the time I take to find my wand, the small holster that I received as a present from Moody, and the remains of Sirius' pocketknife, Hermione is knocking on the door. After calling for her to come in, I smile at her presence of mind. Black formal robes with her house colors tie, the collared blouse with it's collar up and her hair gathered up in a severe plait; the effect is subtle but definite. "You clean up nice in a hurry," I note, earning me a blush across her cheeks, and a scowl.

"And you... don't look like you slept in that." Giving me a suspicious look, she scans the room but seems unable to find what she's looking for. "So what are we doing? It's rather late."

Sighing, I wonder the same thing honestly. "I doubt that Kreacher would be so unsubtle in his reminders to me about Narcissa if he wasn't sure she'd be available now," I reply, rolling my neck to try and break the tension my back has all but seized up with since waking. Giving it up as futile, at least for now, I motion down the stairs.

The drawing room is dark when we enter, but the lights dim, then brighten as we move inside. The fireplace also lights, seemingly on it's own but I figure it to be enchanted or just another of Kreacher's small comforts. The worn but well-kept couch is comfortable, and suits my mood well, for the conversation I know is coming. "Hermione, before this all starts, let me explain something. I'll need some help though, so give me a moment. Kreacher."

At my quiet summons, the old elf appears out of the shadows. "Yes, master?"

I note Hermione's bristling at the house elf's address, but carry on regardless, "You recall the... unpleasant turn you took when there was no master here?" At the elf's sudden look of terror, I hold up a hand and still it. "I'm not freeing you. Calm down."

"You should free him," Hermione gripes, but stalls when Kreacher's recent placid outlook goes feral at the remark.

"Hermione, be still," I chide, but Kreacher's reaction only confirms my suspicions. "So, the state of the house you're bonded to, Kreacher, and I suppose the disposition of your master affects you this way?"

Regarding me now with something like open suspicion, Kreacher nods slowly. "House elves are bound to the families we serve. When there is no family, the magic that sustains us weakens, and we wither. Eventually, we will die."

Despite Kreacher's arguments, Hermione seems nonplussed. "But what about Dobby?" Looking to me obviously for help, I just hold up my hands. Rolling her eyes in aggravation, she seems irritated but surprises me with her next act, "Dobby!"

With a loud pop, Dobby blinks and looks around himself, before catching sight of me and damn near bowling me over as he attaches himself to my leg. "Ohs, Dobby be missing Harry Potter sir, but knows he is well," carrying on so for nearly a minute, the diminutive and oddly dressed elf is stalled by Kreacher's grunt of annoyance.

"Will you leave master be, it was Mrs. Granger that called you, uncouth elf." The rancor in the Black elf's voice startles me, and I note with some concern the rather defensive and irritated posture Kreacher had taken. It's not hard to recognize after all, that was his normal mode for as long as I could remember him, up till recently.

Sadly, it's Kreacher's reminder that snaps Hermione back into action. "Right, it was. Sorry to call you Dobby, but I need to clear up some things." I wonder at the logic of using Dobby as an example for house elves, but keep my mouth shut. I do value my life, after all, I just hope this doesn't take long, as I don't want to put off the meeting with Narcissa any more than absolutely necessary. "Dobby, do free elves get sick and... well weak, without masters?"

Dobby looks confused at the question, but with a few moments and questioning glances between the other three here, myself, Hermione and Kreacher, he seems to come to understand the issue. "Dobby thinks so, yes, Miss 'Mione."

Looking to me triumphantly, Hermione blinks as the elf's words, not the ones she's apparently expecting, sink in. "Wait, what? But that's... how are you...?"

"Kreacher can explain, Ms. Granger," the wizened elf replies with a weary sigh. "At master's leave?" With a gesture I bid him to go on. "Dobby, like all things of magic, can have a bond that is understood by wizards as a life debt." When Kreacher pauses, I look and see my best friend's face clouded in thought, but not with the scowl I'd expected. "Even elves can gain these debts. Mr. Malfoy would have surely killed Dobby for his failures and betrayals, had not master seen to release him." Pausing a moment, the other elf regarded Dobby with a depreciative sneer, "regardless of the nature of our masters, the bond we form makes us loyal. We cannot act to harm, actively, our masters. Only indirectly."

I keep my mind clear, refusing to remember Kreacher's own duplicity regarding Sirius. Instead I focus, for the moment, on Dobby. "How is it you're not weakened, or getting... well strange, Dobby?" I realize the second part of my statement is... rhetorical, but still. Best not to assume the worst of what's become a loyal friend.

Toeing the carpet in a way that screamed anxiety, Dobby shudders a moment, "Dobby is bound, in a way. Dumbledore tasks Dobby with the castle's duties, giving Dobby a bond-of-home to keep his magics."

"But he pays you! It's not a real..." sighing, Hermione realizes the problem with her logic, even as her better nature cries out for her to argue. "But bound or not, you're responsible, and that makes the actual magic work, doesn't it?" When Dobby nods morosely, Hermione reaches up and rubs at her temple lightly. "So all the work I've done with socks and hats for the elves...?"

I try not to laugh, as I sit and tentatively lay an arm across her shoulders, "There's a reason they ignore your area, Hermione. I guess to a bound, happy elf, what you were trying to do is like poison." She gives me a look of horror, but I don't let her pull away, "Hey, listen. We'll talk with the elves when term starts. You didn't know. Maybe we can do something with Winky as well."

"Winky... oh no. She's lost her household! Will she die, Dobby?"

Wincing, Dobby takes the tea cozy off his head and refuses to meet Hermione's eyes. "Dobby sees Winky getting worse, not better if Winky keeps on as she is."

Groaning, Hermione leans back, and I end up with a rather unhappy witch suddenly in my arms. "Hey, hey... calm down. Listen..." running a hand along her shoulder, I do my best to comfort the young witch, but honestly, it's not something I'm terribly good at. It's only from our years together and her own stubborn insistence at contact and companionship I even know what I'm doing. "Don't fret, ok? Look at me." Tilting her chin up, I try to offer a smile but she just sniffles at me. "I don't think you could have hurt any of the elves anyway, alright?"

"I don't know how you figure, I kept leaving them clothes everywhere!" Not one to let go of an argument, even when losing it, Hermione buries her face back in my shoulder, and I sigh.

"What I mean is," taking her by the shoulders, I pull her up and look into her watery eyes. "You can't free them. You're not their master, and only a master can free an elf."

Realization dawns, and she seems slightly stunned at my reasoning. "How do you know?"

Shrugging, I look to Dobby. "Who is the master of the elves at Hogwarts, Dobby?"

"The Headmaster is, and if no Headmaster, his deputy, and if no deputy, the-"

"We get it, Dobby," I interject with a chuckle. "And why can't students ah... control elves from the school?"

Kreacher pipes in here, with a snort. "Imagine children's mischief! Cheating, stealing, such madness in a school. Headmaster needs elves for the running of such a castle, as much as elves need the school itself."

Shrugging at Hermione who's looking at me like I've suddenly grown another head, I offer another slight smile. "It just made sense. After all the time I'd been around Dobby and Kreacher, and then Winky, it made me think about how things worked."

"And you didn't tell me?" Punching my arm lightly, Hermione shrugged off her worry and sat up on her own. Still, she made no move to remove my arm.

Laughing quietly and rubbing at the shoulder nearest her, I shrug, "I hadn't put it all together till yesterday, really. Kreacher's massive turn in attitude tipped me off."

"I apologize for my... trouble, master," the elf offers, bowing low again. "But you seem to understand the why of it, well enough."

Looking to my still-drowsy friend, I smile. "At least them I understand." This earns me another few centimeters to the the bruise already spreading on my arm. Laughing, we sit back, and compose ourselves as Dobby dismisses himself back to his tasks at Hogwarts. A few tissues, a bit of water and about five minutes and I'm feeling at least moderately confident that I can deal with the Malfoys.

I wonder is I should wake Remus, but dismiss the idea. I'm already placing myself far into the realm of barking mad just by my previous actions. Trying to sort some vague security threat by dealing with Narcissa I feel just won't be taken in the proper light. Before my nerve can depart me, I look to Kreacher, where he's been idling, as elves do. Meaning, there's less dust on the books and displays in the drawing room by nearly a ton. "I think I'm ready. Will you... well can you see if Narcissa is available before I floo call and possibly wake someone?" With a nod, Kreacher faded from view, only to appear shortly after, causing me to wonder if in my weariness I'd simply nodded off.

"Lady Malfoy awaits your call, master."

So much for writing it off for a dream. "Ready to entertain guests, Hermione?"

Shaking her head, she regardless takes a seat beside me. "I don't understand why you have to speak with them. Even less, needing to do so here."

"The short version? I know she'll want to have part of this discussion face to face. So, I'd rather it be on my ground than hers. As for why at all... well, she knows that the Order is using a home Kreacher is responsible for."

Brow furrowing for just a moment, Hermione's eyes go wide as she looks between Kreacher, the tapestry on the wall, and me. "So when Gringott's takes the Fidelius down-"

"She'll suddenly remember what was likely her childhood home," I finish for her, nodding sadly. "I have to deal with this beforehand. Otherwise it may bite me later." Oh, and the Malfoys? Never been to a dentist I wager. Unlike Dumbledore, I was quite wary of traps with nasty , she leans back with a contemplative look. Reaching up to rub at my temple, I look to Kreacher, "Unlock the floo, and lets begin."

-

* * *

-

I'd thought my plan to meet with the Malfoys here was sound, but as it turns out, the only way to actually manage it would be to either somehow apparate there and bring them back – not something I was capable of, or have the secret keeper allow them access.

In the end, we came up with a compromise. "Kreacher, I'll call you as we need to go, there won't be a need to come to me, just drop the anti-portkey wards," and with that Hermione and I stepped through the temporarily unlocked floo to Hogsmeade, awaiting what could be a very dangerous, very awkward meeting.

Arriving, Hermione helped me get dusted off, as the floo insisted on tossing me out as they normally do. Irritating, to say the least, I did have the luck of arriving before our guests. Hog's Head wasn't my ideal choice of setting, but it did offer three things I wanted, considering other options were out. It was public, so any exceptional behavior would be witnessed, and there were witnesses enough tonight. There was the usual wizarding concessions when it came to inns and some pubs, in that there were privacy rooms and booths to spare, as well as food and drink from a third party. The last thing I'd been most interested in was that the location was highly magical, so any spells we did need to cast, wouldn't set the Ministry on me like rabid dogs.

We'd put together mild disguises, just enough to get us by. I'd foregone my glasses temporarily, but had them in my pocket for once we had been seated. I just needed to past the patrons, not be invisible after all. Hermione had her hair in a long plait, something that changed her look entirely. I was so used to the wild mane of hair she sported that the sudden curve of neck and shoulder making an appearance had me somewhat confounded. Her grin, dusted with a blush, and a firm hand trying to tame my own hair pulled me back to task. She shortly gave up and we came to a compromise, in a wide hat that one of the portraits in the house had inspired. Covering not only my hair and scar, it was also as she pointed out, appropriate for the setting and style of the moment.

A mirror presented a figure in a curious mix of suit and fedora. "I look like a gangster." The resulting snickering fit that overtook us nearly made the two of us late.

All these things aside, I was anything but comfortable waiting for Narcissa to arrive. Besides the obvious anxiety of meeting the wife of a Death Eater who had nearly killed me and nearly all the people I trusted, and who had cost me my godfather, there was also the Draco issue. I held no illusions I'd be able to remain civil with him around for long. Add to all this that the Hog's Head itself was anything but comfortable, with it's dirty floors and weird odors, narrow walls and bad lighting. It was a wonder really we were holding up as well as we were. Hermione seemed to sense or at least not be immune to my nerves, and as we sat at the lightly warded table in the back offered by the odd barkeep, she took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. The simple gesture did a bit to ease my anxiety, but this only let me mind have more room to work. "I really don't like this much, I just don't know what else to do."

"Well, what of your other properties? You had mentioned them briefly."

Shaking my head, I breathe a sigh. "Well, for one, I don't know if I'm ready to be tossed into a house full of my heritage yet. I mean... think about it. Wizarding portraits, another mass of ever-present-house elves I'm sure, all the things my parents and grandparents likely left behind." A sick sense of vertigo swept over me and I swallowed hard. "I want to know, in time. Right now I'm more concerned with... well _right now_. I'm playing everything by ear, and a lot of history will just trip me up."

She nodded, but a slight gleam in her eye put me on guard. "But Harry..." sliding closer she took a breath and let it loose with a small sound. The hair on my neck rose and I shivered despite myself. "I bet they left so many things behind that could help you," her voice went low and somewhat hopeful, and it was with no small effort I focused my attention away from the pretty way she was biting at her lip.

Thinking a moment on what the devil had gotten into her, and what she was talking about, it hit me. Schooling my expression neutral, I rose to the bait. "But Hermione, you haven't even really seen all of the Black library. Are you sure you can deal with both at once?" Grinning wickedly, I see her start to grin, "I mean, that's a lot to handle for a slip of a witch like yourself."

Hermione's grin wavered, as she realized her joke got spun about. "Well, I do think I can manage. It's not like I need to hold myself back for one library or another."

Oddly, the turn and tone of the conversation started to disturb me. I could also see that Hermione, though playing along, had gotten a look of more... was it nervousness? than playfulness at this point. Smiling with a sigh, I turned my hand still held by hers, and clasped it lightly. "I think the brightest witch of our age can handle whatever she feels up for." Trying to break the odd mood, I straighten and look about the tap room, seeing if our guests had arrived yet, "I'll see what we can do about getting into the libraries if there are any, without me getting more out of my head than I already am."

Relaxing, Hermione offered me a small smile. I know she's nearly as bad as me when things start getting personal, and I realize that even though we may have been joking around, something about that little conversation had gotten under our skin.

"Well if it isn't Potty and his mudblood."

It's amazing how fast I can go from slightly bemused and content to blazing hatred, but I've recently become somewhat fond of that reaction. So far, it's served me well. "Better mud for blood than sewage for brains, I'd say," rounding, I initially see the narrowing eyes of Draco as his face reddens from my retort, but this view is momentarily obscured by his pale hair as a dainty hand smacks him roughly upside the head.

I won't lie. My jaw nearly hit the table.

"Draco Alain Malfoy, hold your tongue before I find myself tempted to vanish it till you learn some civility." Arch tones and a voice like crackling glass wrench my eyes to the ponce's side, where his mother is standing. I wasn't surprised that the woman was dressed to impress, despite our location of meeting, but it still surprises me. Surprises, and reminds me of the gaping rift between my life and that of most pureblood families, and truthfully any magical one. "Forgive my husband's son, Mr. Potter. He is... distraught after certain changes to our current situation."

I manage to only raise a brow slightly at her tone, and the specific wording of her apology. Obviously she's downplaying Draco's presence and Lucius for my benefit... at least to appearances. For all the time I've spent in the castle, there are a few things I've learned that aren't on the curriculum. When your head is as literally full of fluff as the rather odd school song implies, there's a lot of room for obscure and strange information to fit. Where normally my skills tend to the practical aspects of classes, to say I'm dull-witted when it comes to observing my surroundings is a great mistake. One doesn't suffer living under the Dursleys for over a decade without learning to listen, and observe, after all. I decide to give, as well as I'm getting.

Ghosts and paintings were a fascinating thing to watch and listen to, for those first years. They really drove home the point that in many ways, the wizarding world is much slower to adapt, change and grow than the muggle one. They were also a wonderful crash course on expected behaviors, if you know which questions to ask. Removing my somewhat silly hat and standing, I sketch a slight bow, holding out my hand. "Lady Malfoy, née Black," she regards me a moment, at which she replies with a slight curtsy, and lays her hand over my own. Fighting whatever impulses I have to hex, curse, verbally curse or simply throttle the woman who was currently allied to my mortal enemy and married to one of his inner circle, I brush my lips over the back of her hand lightly. From the corner of my eye I see both Hermione and Draco sitting and standing in shock, respectively. Point to me, if I can keep this up. Looking back at her bemused blue eyes, I paint a slight smile on my lips, "Thank you for taking the time to meet, at such an awkward hour."

Releasing her hand I use the moment of confusion to half turn and pull my wand, earning me a sharp intake of breath from the former Black. Taking a moment to refresh the most powerful privacy wards I know, which though they may be a year ahead of what we've learned, aren't terribly impressive. It's the next step that earns me a brow raised for my actions from Narcissa. Taking a breath, I focus on the intent and result of the transfiguration, having paid the barkeep to allow me to do so, provided I keep it 'private'.

The ratty bench seats become much more lush and cushioned which, considering the witch is sitting on them, startles Hermione badly. While the seats are plushing out, the table's surface smooths and loses it's dents, picks and splinters. The booth itself seems to groan and quake a little, as it shoulders around the surrounding seats. With more boast than I feel, exhausted slightly after this display, I wave to the far side of the booth, "Best seats in the house I imagine, please, have a seat."

Narcissa's still bemused look becomes calculating, as I replace my wand up my sleeve. Regardless, it would be rude to decline my offer, and she sits, after guiding a still seething Draco into the booth before her. I would have wanted to bring Hermione in on my plan, but honestly there wasn't one. Besides, the girl can't lie to save her skin.

Once settled, a dense kind of quiet takes over the corner, and I realize it's either now, or never and I've wasted time and made a fool of us. "I understand you wanted to speak with me, about something, Lady Malfoy née Black?" My own use of her maiden name is as intended as her own dismissal of Lucius, and it's showing in Draco's face in tones of red and purple. I can faintly feel him shaking from my opposite side of the booth.

Apparently Narcissa had noted this, her son's state at least, as well. "Draco," though soft, the woman's voice held barbs. "I asked you to come with me on this errand for a reason. If you cannot maintain your composure, I will dismiss you to your uncle's care."

The effect on Draco was immediate, and I'd have to admit, shocking. "My apologies, mother. My apologies, Mr. Potter."

_Mr. Potter?!_ My eyes snap back to Narcissa and I wonder faintly if the poor sod has been put under the Imperious. "It's fine," I manage to stammer, only pulling my own wits about me after Narcissa had began speaking again.

"The matter I would like to speak with you about involves both our families, in a rather... distressing way.

"As you may or may not have discovered after the dispensations of my cousin's will, the House Black is overseen by the oldest surviving male, of the oldest line," here she pauses, and I begin to see an outline at least of what she's thinking with a slight twitch of her eyes toward Draco, who is staring out at nothing so intently I wonder if he's reliving history lessons to clear his mind.

There's a thought, I muse faintly. Next time I try my mind at Occlumency, I'll see if Binn's lectures make a suitable defense.

Nodding slightly, I answer the unasked question, "And with my godfather, who is the same generation as you and I, dead, it now falls to me."

With a slight curve of her lips, the woman inclines her head. "Partially true. You cannot assume the role of Head of House until your majority. Such keeps willful heirs from prematurely assuming their due, I'm sure."

"Of course," I reply, cursing faintly as that ace is trumped. I'd not had time to research and really understand pure-blood and House customs, only the basics and high points, of which apparently the age of assumption was not included. Still... if I were just another 'smarmy brat' to Narcissa, this conversation would be much different. The question then is... what do I have that she wants, and why does she need me so badly that she'd reprimand Draco on my account.

As if sensing my thoughts, Narcissa's slight smile turns predatory. "I didn't come to mince words and dance around politics and assumptions, and I'm sure you have... important things to get back to," with a meaningful look to Hermione, she returns her gaze to me. "Lets get to the point.

"There are games going on, and players that have much at stake. Your lord, my husband's lord." Narcissa smirks as I bristle at her statement. "I heard about your pest problem. I assume this has something to do with their former nest, considering I do not remember where I spent my childhood, who you you sent to deliver your message, and the sudden reluctance of a certain Potions Master to speak with me."

This last item made me pause. "Why would Snape not speak with you? I thought you two would have a lot in common."

"Regrettably, no. I do believe in personal hygiene," a dismissive smirk nearly made me laugh. "Without the Order's headquarters, Snape has only Hogwarts and Dumbledore for safety, and they depend... on you."

"What?" Hermione's startled question made me wince, another item not lost to the observant Lady Malfoy.

Raising a brow in my direction, the aristocratic woman smiled faintly. "She doesn't know?"

Both women are now looking at me, and I feel the weight of it, the weight of the prophecy that Narcissa is blaming me for not telling my best friend, the weight of guilt from knowing if I were just stronger somehow, none of this would be happening. "It's not important," I grind out, dropping the hands that had come up to run through my hair with a sharp noise against the table. "What's important, is that I can walk out that door, and forget that place and any ties I have to it. That means, I don't need you, and suddenly there's no reason to continue this conversation."

The amusement drained out of her face, and the familiar cold eyes regarded me. "Indeed. Then why all the effort?"

"Sentimental value. I figured, what the hell? Sirius liked it well enough. Maybe you do too. Or maybe I can burn the old dump to the ground and just let all those memories go with it."

"That is my family's home, Mr. Potter. I won't have you threatening-"

"Currently, it's my home," I growl out. "So tell me Narcissa, what is it you want?"

Lip curling just like I remember from the World Cup, Narcissa's facade of civility drops off her like rainwater. "This war is going to destroy everything. My husband's name is worth nothing now-"

"Don't speak about father-"

The sharp crack of Narcissa's hand striking Draco across the face echoes inside the ward, and beside me Hermione jumps. I'm either too tired, too jaded or too irritated to react. It's a sign of how much is at stake for her, to bring Draco here, knowing how well he and I get along. I see it a bit clearer now, though.

"You need me to erase the marriage. To lose that name, and take back your own."

"I need for the dishonor that's been done to me by that man to be balanced. I need for the one thing in this world that brings me joy to come out of this war without being turned to so much ash," closing her eyes, Narcissa betrays her earlier violence and pulls Draco, who looks just as torn and broken as she does, suddenly close to her.

A moment of irrational hate sweeps over me, something I can't place. Am I angry at her violence? At the sudden signs of what I've been denied, on display in Draco? Is it the failed posturing that we both attempted that's making me brittle? "What else? There's more than your saying. You could just leave Britain, but you're still here."

"We can't leave," Narcissa said, with only a shadow of her previous arrogance. "The Dark Lord has agents abroad, and we..." closing her eyes, a shudder ran through the woman. "We are proud. I refuse to let him take everything from me and then make me hide like vermin! My name, my family, my husband, what else? Is it wrong to see where this war is going and want nothing of it?"

Draco was obviously not part of his mother's confidence. The shock apparent on his pale features was evidence enough of that. Frankly I just didn't have time to observe or care about their drama. "Put it on the table, Narcissa. Tell me what you want in return for silence and a vow."

"A matching vow, to take Draco out of this war and into your confidence," the disbelieving stares from around the table didn't silence her though. "I have promises of my own to keep. I can't simply leave, or betray the debts of my husband, no matter how much I hate what he's become."

Hermione was speechless, looking back and forth from me to Draco with open disbelief. "You can't expect Harry to do that," she said simply, tone showing the incredulity she felt at the idea of me being Draco's warder, or for that matter responsible for him in any way. I know this, because it's the same thing I'm thinking. The difference is, where I'm stunned silent, she's gaining steam. "They've been at odds since first year! They... define house rivalry! Every year your son has been on Harry's back being an utter prat, and though Harry could have handled some of those times more gracefully-"

"Thanks for that, Hermione."

"Quiet, Harry," shooting me a scalding glance, she sighs, the wind taken out of her. "It's not going to work."

The corner of Narcissa's mouth quirks mirthlessly. "You're a bright girl, or so I hear. How do magicians make things work?"

Wincing at the obvious stab at Hermione, I run a finger over my temple. "Hermione, just let it-"

"Don't you dare tell me to let this go, you can't be thinking of accepting this!"

"Draco," the fact I'm addressing him directly pulls my rival's attention up from the floor, where his bemused stare has been focused for the last few minutes. I can clearly see the splash of red where a bruise would be, except I'm sure by morning a healing charm will wipe it away. "What do you think of this."

There are a lot of expressions I'm used to seeing on Draco's face. This mix of anxiety, disdain, uncertainty and fear isn't one I'm familiar with. Maybe a score of long moments pass, while I watch the conflict play out on his features, "I... "

"He doesn't know what to think," Narcissa spits with some venom. I look over with surprise, as again I'm confronted with the two faces of this family. Supposedly she wants him safe, away from harm, but here she just implied he couldn't think for himself? Seeing my confusion, she snorts in an unladylike way, "Oh but he knows what his father thinks. His father. Always his father. His father thinks, his father does, his father leads him down the same damned path," sighing, Narcissa's head falls into her hands, and her pale hair, slightly more gold than Draco's, flows down onto the table.

Again, I look at Draco, really look at him for once, past the clothes, the hair, the sneer and memories of years of annoyance.

I almost laugh. I _can't_ do it. Can't look past it all. Old Man, you would be so disappointed. "No. No deal. I'm not putting myself on the line for him." Narcissa looked up at me with something like disbelief, that I'd deny her. "Sorry, but I've already had to deal with one turncoat snake for five years, I don't want another."

It actually made me smile, to see her confusion turn to rage almost as fast as my own had. "You need me to keep your little hideaway, Potter, you need-"

"I need, _absolutely_, nothing from you," I snap, already planning my options. Trying to plan. I didn't have many things in my hand to start tonight, and now... wait. I did have _her_ discarded hand... "But you still need something from me."

"It would be a pity if you died, Potter," she hissed, looking to Draco and me quickly in succession. "Then of course, my son would end up in your place. And he has learned to listen."

Was I ever a gambler? I don't really recall. I do know that bluffing is the cornerstone of the talent, but have I ever? During the Tri-Wizard, I suppose. That entire farce was a gamble, one with mine and a few other lives on the line. What's one more bluff? A feral grin lights my face as I lean over the table, making Narcissa draw back suddenly. "Care to try me? Your half-blood pretender of a lord has failed to kill me at one year old, then constantly up to now. Possession, Basilisk, Dementors, a duel with him personally, and only a few weeks ago, I shoved the fucker out of my mind with a thought." That took the bluster and threat out of her as effectively as she had Draco, earlier. "Do you read the papers, Narcissa? You should. What was it they called me last year, Hermione?"

"Mentally unstable, violent, prone to unreasonable and unpredictable-"

I bark a laugh, and the Malfoys jump. "Right. Hero, I am not, hmm?" Turning to my companion again, I find and replace my hat. "I think we're done here."

Reaching out, Narcissa takes hold of my sleeve and is looking down the point of my wand, as suddenly. "Please."

Now that's a word I never expected to hear out of a Malfoy. "Keep your peace for a day. Stay away from the old home. One day's silence and I'll restore your name, your honor, and make sure that you're taken care of."

Snorting, she looses my sleeve and looks between Hermione and myself. "And how can you protect me from the Dark Lord?"

Glaring down at the woman, I don't even try to restrain myself. Barkeep be damned, I let me magic feed off the tempest within. Immediately the air gets a charge, and the other three at the table look to me nervously, as conversations around us, wards or no, go quiet. "I know something he doesn't know," I whisper, locking eyes with the witch.

"I think the party's over," I say, taking hold of the portkey with the hand in my pocket. I wait the ten seconds I told Kreacher he had after hearing the keyphrase, and spend it looking from Draco to his mother. Hermione stands and weaves her arm in mine, as I drop a handful of galleons on the table. "One day. If that's too expensive for your honor, then you don't deserve it."

With a wrench, we're hurdling back to Grimmauld.

-

* * *

-

"Do you remember anything else?"

Hermione's asking me another question, the intensity of her eyes looking into mine stifling. "Wha... what?"

Sighing quietly, she reaches up a gloved hand and sweeps my hair out of my eyes. For some reason my nose picks up the acrid scent of burning cloth. "Do you remember anything beyond the day of our meeting with Narcissa? Do you remember anything else from the day of the attack?"

Attack? My mind shuts down for a few minutes, as I try to remember what she's talking about. Didn't we just get back to Grimmauld? What the hell is going on? I look back up after spending a moment with my eyes shut, trying to still the vertigo that's sweeping through me. When my eyes open, Hermione is gone, the light is brighter, and... is the sheet on me different? Something else is wrong as well. "Hot," I croak, desperately needing water, something to sooth the agony in my throat.

Single-minded need takes over, and the only thing that matters is finding water.

But I can't find water without my glasses, and without my glasses the world is a blur or shapes and colors that often don't mean a damn thing more than a more emphatic reminder that I Need My Glasses.

As my throat tries to weld itself shut, Sirius' droll voice pulls me out of this increasingly insensate series of thoughts, _Stop being so... muggle, pup. You are a wizard_.

Sarcasm lacing my thoughts, I roll my eyes, _Right, magic_, mentally smacking myself in the forehead, as I am too weak and unfocused to do so literally, I try to remember what it is Sirius is forgetting, in his old age... _a wand maybe? So I can do this magic? _

Indignant, the odd internal voice I've come to think of as Sirius retorts, _Hey! I am not old!_

A chill slips along my back, like cold water hitting me. _No, Sirius_, my voice, even though it's only bouncing about inside my own skull, is quiet and scared. _You're dead._

Apparently, that kills our little conversation, as I find that no, my glasses are not on the bedside table. _Nice pun though_, the stage whisper sends a shudder through me again, and I start banging my forehead into the nightstand, irrational paranoia skittering up my spine and settling along the back of my neck. By the time I stop, thirst is forgotten as the room spins, random lights flashing in my eyes while a noise like phantom sirens spins around me, compounding the dizziness.

It's quiet though. My head feels like an empty drum, with pain stretched across it's face for sound – but it's empty. No strange voices not my own, no odd laughter at a joke I don't get. I'm all alone in my head, at least I think I am.

To my distress, I find that I... feel lonely.

-

* * *

-

A/N: Started off as a directionless drabble, grew... grew. Needed to have something done with it. So, here we go!~ Thanks to Akio for helping me sort it a bit.  
Title was something I thought of with the ideas to be presented later, and has nothing to do with the movie, which I was only JUST alerted exists.


	2. Monologues

**Chapter Two – Monologues**

_In which Harry asks many questions and receives unpleasant answers. Time is liberally spent to heal, and he meets a rather eccentric healer. _

_-  
_

Silence is golden, they say. Well, what is silence: the lack of action, the lack of violence – maybe even peace? If that's so, shouldn't I want silence? Wouldn't the person I was and should be...desire silence?

I'm not surprised that the noise of my rather 'violent' reaction earlier brought me attention, given those thoughts. So much for peace and quiet. Though, I suppose bashing my head into a nightstand to shut up the voices in my head may be a tad disruptive to the usual workings of some people's day.

And now someone is there, watching me as I stumble and careen back into my bed. An unfamiliar someone as well. A lack of glasses didn't mean blind, and frankly I've been laid up in Pomfrey's care for so long and on so many occasions that seeing her without my glasses is as good as with. That actually applies to a number of people, to be honest: Hermione, Ron, Luna, Draco, the Headmaster and McGonagall.

Like Pomfrey in her kingdom that was the Hogwart's infirmary, this person moved confidently about, checking something at the end of my bed, walking up and making some rather familiar yet unknown gesture over me. I can't see it, but I imagine a wand there. I could faintly see a narrowing of eyes, as I regarded them with open scrutiny.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes," I reply, still swallowing to get moisture to my throat. "Water. My glasses," managing to croak out the requests, I lay back, hoping she'll at least help with my thirst.

"I'm afraid your glasses are in the hands of some of our curse-breaking staff, as they have a rather profound enchantment on them," she replies, the form resolving itself into a 'she' by voice and a rather distinct profile. "As for water, one moment."

I blink, which stings as my entire body feels dehydrated. Curse on my glasses? What the blazes? Where the hell am I, and where was Pomfrey or Hermione?

Shortly the woman returned, and helped me to sip the water offered. I try to just bolt down all I could be she patiently held the cup away till I promised to be slow about it. Good thing, as well. I nearly vomited the water onto my sheets after it seared it's way down my throat. "Wha-why?" My sputtering question takes the last of my strength, and I fall back onto the pillows panting, unable to sit up.

Again I'm reminded of why I hate being in the hospital wing, if for not the obvious reason of being injured, but also for being so vulnerable. Here, usually I was not my best, or even able to defend myself. How often could one of Tom's just waltz in, and smother me with a pillow? It's amazing Draco hadn't bothered, but then he was as low on the practical Slytherin side as things got. Seriously, the kid had the cunning of a brick, ambition by the ton to match an ego that could possibly eclipse the sun – which was made even more preposterous by the fact he was even at his best, only mediocre at anything. Maybe that was why he and his bookends got along so well. The crown ponce of Slytherin really wasn't much above their level.

My nurse draws my attention as she simply shakes her head, helping me with another, slower, sip of water. "I can't say yet, as your physician is still figuring out the repercussions of your other issues, and trying to sort out what's happened."

Other issues. My eyes narrow, but I try not to hiss out a sigh at the woman. I have a thousand questions and the energy to maybe ask five. One thing seems more important than the rest, and may lead to those answers as well, "Where's Pomfrey?"

To say the womans demeanor went colder would be an understatement. I wonder, briefly, if she'd had some Dementors in her family tree. "She will not be attending you, here at St. Mungo's." Turning on her heel, she spares me another look, softening her posture a bit for what I could see. I could imagine her smiling a little, apologetically as she added with a less hostile tone, "Your doctor will be with you shortly," before leaving.

St. Mungo's. Well that didn't bode well for the question of severity. Still, I wonder why not Pomfrey and Hogwarts, as it seemed every other of my injuries from stubbed toe to cracked skull was handled there. The obvious reason I could guess would be that Pomfrey was either too busy, unavailable or that my condition too severe. That worried me, almost as much as losing my memory temporarily to whatever had happened once we reached... A blank spot in my memory crept up, much like an elephant. Where had we gone after the meeting?

That pushed a sudden spike of apprehension through me. What the blazing hell did happen? I remember the meeting with Narcissa, that utterly preposterous counter-demand and... then the hospital. At least I think it was the hospital I woke up in... "Damn it."

At least I'd drank enough water to swear properly.

Alright, time to take stock. I'm alone, in St. Mungo's, wearing...

_What the hell is this? _

Looking down under the sheets, my eyes take in a formless, coarse, white smock or long apron looking thing with little blue Pixies littering it, flitting about madly. I'm suddenly recalling lessons with Lockhart and smirk, wondering if I could stun my gown into submission.

"Merlin's balls," laying back, I try to let my head settle after the dizziness of watching the things a few moments wore off. A vague memory of a hospital stay, complete with gown flits through my mind, and the smock I'm wearing begins to make sense. Another memory of what the back of these things looks like – and lacks – makes me groan and run a hand through the bird's nest that is my hair. Christ I need to do a grooming charm.

Hold up, wait a minute... I backtrack and replay that thought and wonder a moment. Grooming charm? Have I ever done a grooming charm? Have I ever been in a real hospital? Most of me thinks, "No, of course not, I've never learned one, but I think I've heard one of the guys mentioning them before," while a small, barely heard voice counters with, "How the hell do you think we started notching wands so early? Certainly not by the 'subtle science and exact art' of dunking your head in a cauldron of cooking oil like that git Snivellus."

Despite chuckling at the image, I wonder... where did that come from? Hospital... I know for a fact I've never been to St. Mungo's and that I've never worn this kind of gown at Hogwarts in the infirmary. And 'notching wands'?

_Shagging, pup. Merlin you need to get out more_, Sirius's exasperation was apparent, but it had a sad tone.

Again I set my vision to spots and bright colors by shaking my head so hard I can practically hear my brain bashing against the sides of my skull. "Ok. No reason to get panicky. I'm just... dealing with his death very, very badly. I keep hearing his voice because I want... I wanted him to be around. I wanted a family, and he was my Godfather. And maybe I'm in denial. Or something." _Something_!

Once my dizziness and nausea from trying to unseat my skull pass, I swing out of this gurney and onto the floor, wobbling in place a moment. Merlin I feel weak, how long have I been here? Probably need to shave-

"Damn it, do NOT make me go back to the nightstand," I snarl, hands pressing in at my temples hard. I don't need to shave, because I've never shaved, and that's because I've never had a beard that grew so fast I ended up with a five o'clock shadow by three PM. Getting nothing but silence in reply, I draw in a steadying breath and look around, trying to locate a few key things that seem to be missing.

I feel like I'm losing myself. Need to find _me_.

Clothes, wand glasses. Glasses first because that'd help me see the rest. Glasses... right curse-breakers, so that's a no. Wand... wand? Here wand... damn it. There's no way my wand is here, because there's little of anything for it to be on or in. I'd hoped my vantage from the bed was just limited, but the room, once standing, was as barren as I'd already seen. No desk, no closet, no... "Oh you are shitting me."

No bathroom.

Big white box, with a bed and a nightstand to bludgeon myself with when the voices get out of hand. Taking a flying leap I try that trick I did back when the spooks were trying to suck the stupid out of Dudley, "Lumos!"

I try the spell a few more times, scanning the room for the possibility of a disillusionment on the furniture or closet, but get nothing. I even try a wandless summoner but... well that's really not working for me. Can't even feel the familiar tingle and flow of magic. Too bad too, that one has some real potential... A snicker distracts me as I picture the havoc a wandless summoner cast on the knickers of one of Draco's little flock of witch fangirls, in the Great Hall, cut off mid way leaving them out between the tables. Or maybe cast just so they end up in front of the little ponce...

My hand flies up and slams into my forehead, palm impacting my brow, "Where the hell did That come from?!" Now, given I wasn't exactly blind to girls – Hermione had proven that the night before... or was it some nights ago? _Nevermind_! I'm not a eunuch, but what the hell?! Pranks and jokes on the Ferret were one thing, but... Why hadn't I thought of that before? I mean it was a rather elegant and simple plan, unlikely to backfire-

I settle back on the bed and blink at the far wall. My pranks and jokes had been really tame considering, and usually only happened at all to get further along with things that had to be done. Ron, the twins and I could have really caused a stir if we'd gone down that path, working on the female population as well. A sudden claw of terror grips me as I realize precisely why I've never considered it – Hermione. If we got caught, either by staff or her, that'd be the end of... I swallow a knot in my throat.

No wandless summoning of knickers in my future. Nosir.

While my mind was going back and forth on the virtues and dangers of 'practicing' my wandless magic on the dear Gryffindor chaser team, the doctor that my nurse mentioned managed to show up. Well, my guess is the somewhat stocky man is a doctor, as he's wearing white and there's something rather reflective on his head. I could really use my glasses about now...

"I see you're up and about Mr. Potter," The man says. I have to give him credit, he's got a stunning grasp of the obvious. "My name is Nigel Williams, resident specialist in dark magic recovery. How are you doing today?"

Feeling an irrational spike of anger, I roll my head around on my shoulders and level a glare at the man. "Well enough," I say, guarding my expression. The man seems to still be waiting for something, and my eyes narrow. "Up but not about, considering," I grind out, wondering why I'm so irritated at the man, considering he's a doctor. Considering what Hermione said about an attack. Considering I'm hearing the voice of my dead Godfather and can't seem to shut him up.

I can't see the man's face, but I get the impression of a smile. He moves a lot like Poppy, I notice. You get used to people's body language after a while, and it's frighteningly easy to see sometimes how open most are with their emotions and thoughts. Being quiet has the effect of letting your mind focus on other things, than what you say next, and for me it's been body language. You learn how to read people quick when it's the difference between sleeping with a little food or sleeping off bruised ribs, over a noticed snatch for crumbs. Slight bounce on the heels, arms going slack but clasped, hands around wrists. Slight jerk of the torso, bob of the head. He's stifling a laugh. "Yes, the room isn't precisely the most... furnished. That's mostly for your protection."

"From?" I won't lie. The anger lasted just long enough to exhaust me somewhat. Now I'm just tired, somewhat scared, a little lost and wondering what the hell is going on. The mood swings are starting to take a toll.

The pleasant demeanor drops, like someone had cut the strings holding it up. Sighing, the man comes a bit closer and drops a tiny block of wood on the floor, by sound. A moment later he's transfigured it into a chair and is sitting, facing me. "Are you aware that your physical condition is somewhat... suspect?"

I bite back my laughter after one or two short barks. "You could say that I've been suspect of it for some time."

"Why have you never sought out St. Mungo's?"

Leveling a gaze at the man, I feel about as weary as the room was featureless. "Honestly? I don't know. Hogwarts was... sanctuary. I've been so used to Pomfrey's care, that it's just never entered my mind."

The man blinked. "But," pausing he seemed to consider me hard a moment. "Your companion mentioned you had a complicated background," when I stiffened, he held up a hand, calming me. "Relax. She gave us no details – despite our inquiry.

"Are you muggle-born? Is that why you never came to us?"

"No," sighing, I just sit. There's no desire in me to go over the recent and recently resolved issue of the Dursleys. It was over. Done. Or try to reason out why I never came here. I had the hospital wing of the castle, why would I need St. Mungo's? I voice my next query to the man, "Why does it matter?"

Considering me with a tilted head, I curse again at my lack of glasses. "Because you've acquired several issues and injuries that simply are beyond a simple school healer's capabilities."

A cool wind seems to have slipped up my back, and I know it has nothing to do with the lack of material there. I don't like where this conversation is going, and am realizing that there are other people who are going to like it even less. My reaction, that is. "I'm afraid I don't understand," my words are ice-rimed. I'm breathing winter, when I look back to the man, centering my glare at darkening pools that indicate his eyes. "Explain."

He does. In detail, but with pauses as I stand up and pace slowly about the room, my mind's state unable to simply allow me stillness. I can tell there's more to this as well, but he does a good job of diffusing me before I go up like a bomb. Three of my fractures – acquired during Quidditch games or practices – never healed fully. Malnutrition complications, that my starving then gorging at Hogwarts has only worsened. That one seems to have negatively affected my growth – big surprise. I imagine my father was a tall, lanky but capable man, and if the Dursleys had understood anything, it was intimidation. Knowing I had that potential in me, they'd do whatever it took to squash it. I shake off the bitterness and focus on the man's words again. Weakened growth potential of my magical core, which they don't really think is able to be remedied. That one took a while to calm down after...

Then he drops the bomb on my head. "Are you... do you know anything about your scar?"

I turn from my pacing and level a look at the man that sends him scooting across the room. Yeah, we're not in a good mood here, "What do you mean? I know a _lot_ about it. What do _you_ know?"

Regaining his composure, the man straightens his smock and robes a moment. "There are... very complex ailments. Magical backlashes and strange things that happen in our world every day. Some magics are powerful enough to cause lasting, permanent changes, damage and effects in people, and when those go wrong, or right, the results are sometimes uncertain..." he says, before heaving a sigh. "Let me be frank, Mr. Potter.

"We've observed your 'conversations' through the rooms monitors and warding. We're not ignorant to exceedingly dark or light magics. We are likely the only institution outside of the continent that has as strong a background in soul magic injuries, thanks to the last war," pausing, his voice somewhat thick with emotion for some reason, the man motions for my bed, silently asking me to sit. I refuse. He continues. "The original trace magics we found from the scar indicate you'd had a fragment of a soul, trapped within your own."

I sit. Hard. I know... _who's_. I can't think of any other, more logical way to explain it now. All the visions. The pain. The Parselmouth ability. Tom's ease at possessing me. "Voldemort," I whisper, but then something else clicks. "_Had_?"

If the man flinched at the name, I missed it. "Had. The trace shows... damage. A tear, that isn't healing well, in the fabric of your self that we've come to identify as the soul. It's a complex art, in mapping and detecting alone, something involving auras, your magical core, the natural flows of your body and the way your mind behaves," pausing, the man heaves a breath. "Whatever happened a few weeks, maybe months ago, tore that fragment loose, and there's now another... _something_, there."

Sirius.

_You son of a bitch._

My hand snaps up to my forehead and I run a slow finger along the jagged line. "I... think I know. Oh..." The world spins a bit, but I shake it off. "That's... a lot to think about."

"There's more."

I blink up at the man. More? He's joking. He _has_ to be joking...

Clearing his throat in a way that screamed 'I really want to be somewhere else', he regarded me sadly. "There was by all appearances, massive, fatal damage done to your soul, indicative of the killing curse. It's the nature of the thing... it tears and undoes the bindings between the things that make up what we think of as the soul. There are traces of a binding spell, a massively dark and immoral binding spell that used the material of another life essence to shield and ensure your own survival."

"What? What..." the blood wards? Could he means _Dumbledore_? I start to look around the room frantically, something feeling _wrong_, fundamentally _wrong_ but the damned doctor clears his throat again.

"Your mother." The room spins. I sit – was I standing? I'm on the floor... the cold tiles seeping their chill into me. "Whatever she did... it made sure you survived. But it cost her, and you something... terrible.

"Harry, I... don't know how to say this," frustrated the man reaches up and runs a hand through his hair. I see his skin, how pale it is, almost as white as his hair. Will my hair be that color, I distantly wonder, after so many horror stories? "You didn't survive that curse. Not in any way that we'd describe as such. What dwells in you, is more your mother's essence than what we could identify as Harry Potter."

I'm... who? What? There's a quiet and grateful sweep of relief when the noise in my ears and head dull and fall away as blackness sweeps up and over me.

-

When I wake back up, I'm strapped down, in a different room. This one's... colder. The walls have details, I can see a door, but it feels more... antiseptic. Cleaned of life. That scares me more than a little, above and beyond my initial panic at being unable to move. I remember Nigel's words, the meaning behind them. Protect me from myself. I begin to appreciate the effort.

"Harry?" Hermione.

She's close enough so I don't need glasses, which is a relief. Then she leans over and I see her deep eyes, deep like the shade of a forest in the morning or early night, and in them... something that stabs at me. She's afraid. _Of me_. I look away and close my eyes so hard it makes my lip curl in a grimace, as something feels like it snaps inside me. It feels like wet rope, in my chest. Pulled too tight and snapping, strand by strand at the strain, each fiber echoing as they part.

She knows. He's told her and now she's... I can't even begin to sort out the mess in my head but one thing reverberates. "You don't have to be here."

I feel her hand brush at my hair. At my forehead – I jerk away, hard. The bed I'm strapped to rattles with the motion; her hand draws back. "But... Harry-"

"There is no Harry!" I scream, my throat raw after, and a pressure like all the air in the room pushing back down on me. "There never was!" My magic is trying, desperately to get out, to coil loose and do something to release the pressure inside me trying to get out but it's like the room, the air is fighting me. Through it all I hear her. Some perverse comedian decides that I need to see, despite my closed eyes, or maybe I've opened them and just can't come to grips with it. Maybe I'm insane.

Hermione has drawn back, hand over her mouth and eyes huge, staring, watery. She doesn't blink, or look away from me, despite the distance. Tears well and fall, huge and glittering, down her cheeks. She turns and looks like she's going to run away but stops like something, like she ran _into_, something. Swallowing hard I force my eyes open and watch the aurora play over me, fading down as my magic fades back and the restraining wards relax as well. It would have been rather pretty if I hadn't been in fear of my very self at that moment. The conversation with the doctor gnaws at me, taking great pieces of me with it, tearing. Ripping. Shaking the bloody portions before discarding them to seek more.

She's biting back tears, her own hiccuping breath and something else as she faces away, hair lifting slightly as the wind of the room's and my own magic quieten. "That's a lie."

Panting, eyes unfocused I wonder if it was her, if... "_That's a lie_!" Her scream rips at me, as she spins and is back over me, glaring, sobbing down at my face as it's held paralyzed.

Her hand comes up, cradles the curve of my cheek. The rise and edge of my cheekbone, the hollow below, traced by her thumb. "_You are you_," her conviction raining down on me, rolling down her cheeks. "I know you. I've been with you for years. Does knowing... what makes up the person I know change it? Don't you see that? What difference does it make! Knowing! It changes nothing!" I see her saying these things to me but there's a wall in my mind that the words can't pass. I'm in my tower, she's by the gate, and I won't let her in. The monster isn't out there. All the while she's shaking all the denials that are welling up in my throat back, denying them just as strongly. "You are you," she says again softly.

Then my world disappears, as all the focus in the universe, all the ideal of me, focuses on the featherlight, desperate but gentle press of her lips to mine. My eyes are open, but I can't see... only feel. She's been worrying at her lips with her teeth – I can tell, the edges of the bitten skin there rougher. I feel her heartbeat, in that slight contact.

And then she's fleeing from the room, but not from me. Not from me. That I know.

-

Places like this, situations like it have a way to destroy your sense of time. How long ago did I get here? When was Hermione here? Why haven't I seen anyone else? What day is it? I know by the time I needed a drink, something to ease the dryness and unpleasant sticking ache in my throat that mine was blown to hell. I didn't begrudge it, really, the lack of any sign that one moment was as good as the previous, or that the one prior would have any bearing on this one. It was liberating. I had... I had no limits, on how long I could take to sort myself out. Given that, some part of me clung to that idea.

I clung to Hermione as well. The things she said.

One day I'll wise up and realize the girl really is usually right. With a sigh I stifle the urge to reach up and trace my scar.

Padfoot's voice creeps in from the sides of my mind, _How are you doing, pup_?

It's been... days? Possibly. I can't really tell anymore. I sleep when I can't stay awake and when I do I feel... something in the room has changed when I wake up. Still though, I'm strapped to this bed. Still held down. They, whoever they are, are making me think by giving me no other option. I've used it, having little choice. I've made progress getting used to this idea, this wild, mind-shattering truth that I'm not really me at all. I'm some strange concoction – like a potion. One part Harry, Two parts Lily, add killing curse, a dash of Voldemort, simmer for sixteen years. Skim off the Voldemort, add Padfoot and let chill. Serve and enjoy. I chuckle at the way my new – is it new? – sense of humor unfolds. I'm getting there.

Of course, being so intimately connected to me, or rather being a somewhat still... undiluted? Undissolved? Bah! Sirius is still separate in these conversations. Maybe it had something to do with that 'badly healing wound' that the doctor mentioned, but he hears my thoughts well enough. _As much as you may worry on just being some strange amalgam of you and your mother and Voldemort, I must ask: Why_?

"Why what?" I reply, lapsing into a silent conversation with my former-currently-cranially-cohabitant-Godfather. "We seriously need some new pronouns."

Snorting, Sirius' voice slips around me again, _Worry on it at all. You didn't know this was even the case till recently. What does it change now_?

What indeed. "You don't think I'm just... well a shadow of Lily, thrown into a new body and raised by her bloody horrid aunt?"

_I knew Lily, well enough I think_, Padfoot's thoughts reply, a pause after. _I'd say, as best answer as I can to that question, what is it that makes a person who they are_?

"You're talking about experiences shaping someone. Nature versus nurture."

_You've spent too much time around Granger_, he replies with a chuckle. _But yes, in some ways. Hell, even a right bastard like Tom would be different if he were given a different view_.

"But that's just it, Sirius!" I close my eyes, trying to keep my thoughts together as best I can. There's a lot of noise... turbulence inside me. I know why – all my life I've believed me to be myself, and now there's this looming doubt there, in the room of my mind. Memories, ideals, opinions are all coming under the microscope. What part of Lily said this? What part of Tom was that? Where's Harry?

_Where's Harry?_

"You three had already had a life. Had your time and experiences. Your lives were already lived. Who you were was shaped," that's the worry, then. I've finally given it words, a face and reality of it's own outside of formless fear. These three people, adults, strong and rigid in their convictions and beliefs, were the shapes that now formed me. Though Voldemort's fragment had been ripped free and was, apparently, lost with the body of Sirius, he'd been a part of me as long as Lily's had. Was that sudden lack why I felt the need to break free of my home, rather than simply suffer there? Was it Lily's compassion and fierce protectiveness that kept me from simply lashing out at the Dursleys? Some knowledge that at heart, there was a redeeming quality to them? Or that she was protecting me by inaction, to give them nothing to use against me.

I shake my head hard. Too many questions... "What, who am I?"

_Harry Potter, _Sirius replies calmly.

"Damn it, I'm serious here!"

Padfoot laughs like a storm. _In some ways, literally_!

"Nightstand!" I snap, but fall back from my straining, knowing too well it's an empty threat. A grin slips along my features and instead I picture Molly Weasley and Sirius in what can only be explained as the most unforgiving display of teenage hormones gone inexplicably wrong and out of control I can possibly imagine.

_SWEET MORGANA, NO_! I feel Padfoot's... _self_, that small, knotted core of undiminished memory and personality flee the tableau in my mind. As quickly, I banish it. Shivering slightly at my... inwardly focused sadism. With a chuckle I recall one of Hermione's books, and my light, half-voiced laughter becomes gales of body-shaking bellows.

"We are our own most loyal demons," I wheeze, turning my head to the side. A peace, real this time settles over me. Seizing it I drift off to sleep.

-

I can't imagine how much time passes, as I'm sorting out my mind. Those endless, featureless days that pass while the only thing I have is my own internal landscape to explore. The lack of any options forces me there, any time I wake. Maybe I should be bitter, or scared, or feel wronged by it, but the truth is I need this. I know it, and so rather than rail helplessly at the circumstances I make the best of it.

I try to find Harry.

One day when I wake, the restraints are gone. I'm feeling weak, but not from a lack of nourishment or harrowing mental strain. I just need food and to move around like a living body and not a stubborn, warm cadaver. It seems someone's predicted my needs, and there on the ever-present nightstand lay a tray of what looks like some kind of grain bar and a milkshake. Sniffing at the slightly sticky things, my nose wrinkles. While not really smelling bad, they do have an odd aroma, something like yeast and raisins. Putting the thing back down I rise and stretch, noting for the first time in a long while that the room isn't hazy, out of focus.

Impulse has me reaching up, foundering about my head for the glasses I'd always worn, finding them absent. I blink, look across the room, rubbing at my eyes again and waiting for my natural focus to resume, but the room stays clear, sharp. "The devil is going on," I murmur, eyeing the 'milkshake' in the same way as the bars, wondering what this latest find meant.

My hunger had nearly gotten the better of me by the time the door opened.

What I'd expected was a doctor, or nurse. I hadn't seen anyone else, really. In fact I'd not really seen any of the St. Mungo's staff I'd thought would be teeming in a hospital setting, which threw me off for a few days till I began enjoying the solitude. Maybe I was in the crazy ward – honestly it fit. I mean, I could be a danger to people around me... though I doubted it.

The time let me get my head sorted out, or at least lay the groundwork. I can't pretend to be one hundred percent, but Padfoot's voice now doesn't send me into histrionic fits.

The nightstand is grateful.

Those idle thoughts are left behind when a mass of brown hair attached to a rather intent ball of repressed emotion slams into me, and barrels us both back onto my cot. With a muttered 'oof' and a groan I blink up at deep, rich brown eyes that threaten to drown me in their depths, and the smile, hesitant and growing below them. "Hermione," I say stupidly, somewhat surprised at the catch in my voice.

Her smile grows a bit, "Hey," she says simply, before burying her head in my shoulder.

I don't know... why. Why she insists on staying by me, like I'm the last raft out at sea, and she adrift. I also wonder some times, at my own very similar behavior. My arms drift up, back to where instinct had set them when she dove into me, later falling back to my side. "She's warm," I think quietly, closing my eyes and sighing, breathing deeply, the scent of vanilla and books making me smile. We stay like that for what feels like hours, and I'm nearly nodding off when she pulls back, looking at me with half-closed eyes.

We regard each other quietly a few minutes. It's not uncomfortable, we've always been better at not speaking and just being around one another than she and Ron were. A comfort in simple closeness. I've missed it. "You got comfortable, laying about all day," she remarks, apparently mirroring my thoughts, and I chuckle. I know I've not grown soft – it's just her way of saying she's missed me.

I sit up, as she hops up and looks about the room, stretching, getting blood back to my lazy body. I see more now, and it worries me. She's thinner, her skin paler. There's a hollowness to her eyes I don't like, and where her hair was always a curled, unruly mass like mine, now it lacked even minor luster. "How long has it been?" My question stills her, and the smile I'm wearing falters.

She turns and faces me, the face presented the one she's so used to taking when something unpleasant needs doing. I've seen it since first year. There's a tautness about her eyes, a tension in her face. Refusal to react, to show her own opinions of what must be done. "A month," she says simply, and waits.

My mind slows, shuts down. A month. I've been... where have I been? Is this really a hospital? I shake my head, clearing the sound of my blood rushing out of my ears. They... whoever they were, gave me time, time I needed to stop being so bloody out of sorts. "Well... that I can somewhat understand. I guess my next question is, where am I?"

Shaking her head slowly, Hermione returns to my side, sitting on the cot. "I don't know. After I explained a few things to the doctors, they called Amelia, and between the two of them set up this situation practically the night I took you to St. Mungo's. I don't even know, really." Smiling ruefully, she held up a small keychain. "Timed portkey."

"But... why?"

"Dumbledore." I blink, as she meets my gaze. I've heard her furious, babbling in excitement, and stiff with fear... but never quietly venomous. I don't know what to think about this new side of the girl I counted my closest friend. "I knew that after that mess at the Order meeting, Dumbledore would try something. Try to send you to the Dursleys, or take you to Hogwarts... Something. We never gave him the chance." Sighing, she tucked her feet up and under herself, reminding me of all the times we'd sat, chatting, talking in the common room of Gryffindor tower. "He had tracking charms in your glasses, and a compulsion in them. Also a mild curse, but the whole thing was so tricky. Once you got to St. Mungo's, he was a minute behind. Once they figured out what was going on, you became the next big secret."

I blink dumbly at her, again. "My glasses? Secret?"

Nodding, she stifles a sardonic little laugh. "You've slipped though the cracks. Supposedly your treatment for some sudden illness has had you rushed off in secret to special healers. At least, that's what Rita's telling everyone," she replies, making me chuckle. "As for the glasses... it would seem innocent enough, really. The initial scan on you nearly missed them, but I was so frantic they let me in with you. When they cast the medical charm, your head lit up like a blaze... I had to think fast about your scar but then that old man, the doctor said and guessed enough that I... well I thought I could trust him. I mean, he barely looked at you and was telling us things Dumbledore hadn't even hinted at yet," she adds, voice gone cold. Looking away suddenly, Hermione's cheeks colored darkly. "I'm sorry."

"No, no don't be," I reply, trying to gather all my thoughts like snitches scattering on the wind. "So he knew something about it already?"

"Apparently it's really blazing obvious to healers that aren't being paid off," the young witch spat, this time with less than repressed anger. "They found so much... so many things that had never been properly treated. And we trusted them!"

She buries her head in my shoulder, fists clenched about my sparse gown, reminding me with a flare of anxiety the thing's thin nature. Swallowing, I wrap an arm about her, as she shakes. I don't know if it's from anger, sadness or some other strong emotion.

It's so unlike her, I think quietly. So angry, so betrayed by those people she'd trusted – and on my account. I know well the limits of loyalty: how far one can be pressed before those bonds seem to snap. Hermione on the other hand seemed to have a well of respect and trust that never dried up, for those people that taught and were part of the magical world she loved so much. Not knowing how to comfort her, not knowing even if I should, I fix on the one thing that seems so wrong, so unusual about all this, that we'd barely touched on. "Hermione, tell me about the glasses. You just said said something about a scan..."

"Oh, sorry," she murmured around a sniffle. Taking a breath, to steady herself it seems, she begins to explain. "After the charm, I notice something wrong. I mean, I'm no healer, but I thought, 'If it's his scar, then shouldn't the charm make it glow? Not your whole head?'. So, I asked the healer, that old gentleman that's been looking after you.

"He got an odd look, and asked me how long you've worn those specific glasses." Hermione laughed, and I heard a healthy dose of self depreciative scorn in it, "Brilliant Hermione Granger – who's parents both wear glasses. Who's parents every year get their eyes checked, and at least once during my time knowing you, changed prescriptions – and they're adults!" Sighing, she leaned back and seemed to stare off, lost in thought. "So he did the check again, with the glasses off."

I had an idea where this was going, by now. "So, the glasses had the... whatever the charm found?"

"Mostly, yes," she answered. "Well, the glasses had a compulsion charm on them, for you to wear them, and the curse which is what showed up then."

"Well, that almost makes sense, considering I need them. Still, why?"

"That's just it," Hermione seemed to get irritated here, and her hands played at the hemline of her blouse. "You don't."

I'm tired of looking like a fish around her, but this bit of information just confuses me. "I don't understand. I've always needed glasses."

Her brown eyes found mine, and I worried about the guilt I saw there. "But Harry, you don't now, do you?"

The gears all ground together then. "Compulsion. Tracking charm. Curse... my vision?"

"Yeah," her voice small, she stood and paced about the room slowly, much as I felt the need to do. I'd join her, if not for how little energy I had. "It's a nice little setup. Keep your vision bad, so you need the glasses, so the tracker is always there. The whole thing resets itself once you put the glasses on."

"That bloody..." I really need to get something to eat. We've barely been talking for ten minutes and I feel winded and stretched thin. Something to settle the bile in my gut would be welcome as well. "So, not to completely derail the conversation, but what had me in St. Mungo's to begin with? I remember you mentioning an attack? Was it Death Eaters?"

Hermione turned and blinked at me a moment, before raising a hand to her mouth, looking for all the world like she'd forgotten something, and just realized it. Then she blushed scarlet. "Oh, no... Oh. I can see why you'd think that, with meeting Narcissa and Draco. No, nothing like Death Eaters," she said, laughing quietly a moment, blushing furiously.

I stared, watching as she fidgeted and seemed utterly unwilling to proceed with an explanation. Finally, the curiosity won out and I put voice to my question, "What happened?"

"Kreacher had... well the portkey took us back, but he'd set it to the master bedroom."

Made sense, I reasoned, but still something-

_They appeared with a small pop in the main bedroom of Grimmauld, the one he'd awoken in before. The same bedroom that had once housed Buckbeak, later renamed Witherwings. Currently, it was his bedroom._

_It was also currently decorated and organized much like a bridal suite. The walls were lines with white draperies, diaphanous things that floated even in the small movements of air they made walking around. The floor had been lined with an odd glitter than didn't come off, while there were petals of some flower leading them to the bed. Along it as well, there were petals, strewn about on the exposed sheets. "What the-"_

_With a pop, Kreacher arrived, bowing low to them both. "Master and Missus, welcome home."_

_Looking about, I wonder what the crazed elf has done. I also don't miss the addresses. "Kreacher, why is the room like this?"_

_The elf tilted his head and regarded them curiously, "The Master shared his bed with the Missus last night. Kreacher assumed this would mean a deepening of your relationship, with your long history."_

_Hermione looked between me and the elf with something like horrified shock. I imagine, given a mirror, we could compete on who looked the more dumbfounded._

_Then the implications of what the elf was implying hit me. I spun to look at Hermione who had slowly turned to look at me, cheeks glowing a rather impressive cherry red. "I had no idea!-"_

_"-I didn't mean to give anyone that impression," she blurted. We spent a solid minute trading denials, apologies, vague noises that could have been answers or just nervous panic before a pressure started building up in my head. Though I was familiar with the scar and how it in turn reacted to Voldemort, this seemed... different. _

_Clutching at my temples, I fell down to the floor on my knees, vision going white all over... _

The memory, lost till now, leaves me blind and with an aching head. I grunt and run a hand along my forehead, the unmarred side, while Hermione comes and lays a hand along my shoulder.

Blinking, I shake off the memory. "No, no Death Eaters. I was having an 'attack' like the ones I had with the scar," she nodded sadly as her blush rose and looked away. I make a point not to embarrass either of us again, with that memory. "So rather than turn to Dumbledore and his, you brought me to St. Mungo's? Why? You've... I'm sorry but it's always seemed like you trusted them. Why now?"

With her back to me, it was... odd, listening to Hermione speak. She always was so adamant about her topics, never nervous, unsure like this. "They said that all the travel you'd done had upset the... scar," she said, dodging my question for a moment. "That after a while, it just shook things up enough for it to start behaving like an injury again."

With a sigh, she looked to me, and the walls came down. The tension in her face evaporated and was replaced by a sadness I never wanted to see in her, "As for why? You. You're why. What you said..." sighing, she crossed her arms and turned away, holding herself tightly. It seemed such a lonely, unsure motion, and that stabbed at me. It hurt, to see her so unsettled. I struggled, fighting the weakness of a month's time convalescing to rise as she continued, "The Firebolt... that Sirius got you. I remember that day as being, well. My first lesson, in _people_. Outside of books and cleverness." The wry tone in Hermione's voice made me wince, and to answer it I struggled more, unsure but standing finally.

"You had reasons. Of all the people that could, or should be questioning Dumbledore's actions, you've got the most right. I've sat by all this last year watching you get spat on by the Ministry's little toad Umbridge, the _Prophet_, your own house... all because you were telling the truth. So, this time, rather then run to them I trusted... you." With that word, I wrapped my arms around her. Hermione stiffened, startled but only for a moment. Her hand, small and warm tucked into mine as my arms crossed her own.

"Then the healers got to work looking you over... and that cemented it. I never want you to be subject to that horrible man again," I remember the doctor's words as well, the road map of my history played out in scars and healed bones. Brief, outlining my previous injuries to be sure, but now so much made sense.

Why, despite the severity of my injuries I'd never been here. Why, despite how badly my relatives had treated me, it never seemed to matter. Why suddenly my eyesight was wrong one day, and I 'found' my glasses, that miraculously fit and that I'd never been without, even with them broken, for a day since. My arms tightened around her small form, as I buried my face in the mane of her hair.

She believed me. Trusted me. Above them, above Dumbledore.

Maybe all this, all the work and worry that I'd put into striking my own path was worth it, after all.

Still, now there was a larger issue. Hermione made a small, unhappy sound as I untangled myself from her. "The scar... what happened doesn't bother you? Knowing that?"

Hermione turned, looking up at me, our heights similar but I was just a bit taller, still. "I told you before. You are you. I've known you for five years," her turning left my arms around her. Any other day I'd wonder out our closeness, how easily I fell into the habit of keeping her close, but for now I was simply grateful. We'd always been comfortable around one another, more so I realize, than with Ron or anyone else. She'd broken down many of my barriers through sheer stubborn willpower. Having spent so much time in my own head. Her next words though stall all these happy musings, "Do you want proof?"

"Proof?" I raise a brow, as she gets a smile that makes me worry slightly.

"Yes," she continues, sighing expansively and bringing our bodies back into slight, but intimate contact. My arms were still loosely wrapped around her, from where they'd been crossed with her own before, but now they circled her, resting along her back. With her sigh though, I realize with a start that my gesture to relieve her discomfort had possibly backfired, causing an even more uncomfortable situation – I hadn't intended on embracing my best friend in a backless slip of cloth and certainly hadn't intended on feeling through that same pointless garment the rather obvious truth of something I'd discovered in fourth year.

Hermione was very much a girl.

With an embarrassed noise and jolt I hop back, setting us both off balance, landing me on the floor and wincing at what will likely be a bruise, come morning.

And now she's laughing at me. "There's your proof," she say between giggles, walking over, offering me a hand up. Shortly I'm sitting back on the cot, with her curling up along my side. I can't help but stare incredulously at her, as she lays her head along my shoulder with a content sigh, wrapping her arms around one of mine. After a moment, she looks up, "If you weren't the Harry I know, you wouldn't have panicked there. If you weren't my Harry, you wouldn't have gotten embarrassed by your best friend being an utter girl at you," there's something sad in her eyes, and it pulls a small frown into my expression. Seeing it, she seems to loose some of the smile, already fading, that she wore as well. "I'm not worried," she adds after a moment. "You're still the same old Harry."

-

She'd finally managed to talk me into eating the weird sticky bars once she stopped laughing at me. I admit her reasoning was sound enough, but I still had doubts. Its impossible not to, but she understands I'll need time, understands it without me telling her. Not wanting to dwell on the sadness I'd seen in her eyes, I concentrate on the 'food' that had been left. "These aren't so bad," and they weren't. Strange, filling but the taste wasn't something I could really say I enjoyed.

"They're healthy, but... well not made specifically for flavor I suppose," she mumbled, biting off the corner of one and chewing thoughtfully. "I think they're something to help you recover."

"Recover," I mumble, staring down at the thing in my hand. "What happened, while I was here?"

Hermione looked up, then away. "The Order hasn't gotten into Grimmauld if that's what you're worried about. The goblins arrived the next day when the staff here ran me off to sleep a while," She was fidgeting with her hem again, and then it hit me.

I had no idea where Grimmauld was. I knew it existed... still had memories but couldn't... place it. It felt like recalling a movie I'd seen years before. Memories and impressions without any substance or definition. "The Fidelius!"

"They cast it that night. I'm sorry, Harry, they needed a secret-keeper and you were here-"

"No! It's ok, really. I think I would have insisted it be you anyway," grinning, shaking my head I relax. There's a part of me that really doesn't like the old house, or rather doesn't like what I remember of the place, but still, it's what I have. I won't mourn Privet drive, not now or any other time, but it was always _there_. It had been home for over a decade and now... I realized part of what had kept me so unsettled, adrift here as my mind mended was that knowledge that after, where I'd go wasn't a certainty. Knowing it was safe now eased something inside me that I couldn't name.

After all, I couldn't stay at the school. Hogwarts... would put me again in the hands of Dumbledore. Did I want that? Could I trust him, with what I knew? With the memories of his failures to me, and more importantly, to Sirius? He'd spend my entire life planning and securing me in some way... maybe it was, as he said, for the Greater Good. But whose?

Who was he to decide those things? What trust had he earned, from me, to allow him that grasp on my life? Sirius bubbled up while my thoughts were scattered, offering his own voice to the noise, _He's yet to really do anything for your good, or mine. Don't lose your resolve, Harry. You know what's best. It's not his life, to live through you after all._

To the wizarding world perhaps, he was the vanquisher of Grindelwald. The opponent of Voldemort, and a force for good wizards and witches. The kindly grandfather, ushering them along their early lives, showing them patience and understanding, and most of all kindness. Sirius and I both agreed to that. I knew those things. Understood them. And it was true. He was a great man, and a good wizard.

I also saw his human side, and now had the memories and reactions of Sirius and his life to back up my own reasons. Was it unfair of me? To single my experience and feelings of the man down to only my own? The nutrient bar seemed like ash in my mouth, thinking in this way.

No. I couldn't get past my history with Draco any more than I could simply gloss over Dumbledore's manipulations, hand in my life. He knew about the fragment of Voldemort inside me – Padfoot's memories, the reason I had those memories was proof of it. Sirius wouldn't have sacrificed himself to displace it otherwise.

He knew about his innocence. Knew about the wretched way the Dursleys treated me. Knew about Voldemort's half-state. Living death. Why? Why did he do nothing then? What did it serve to all but assist the murderous fanatic in reclaiming his body? Quirrel's Occlumency couldn't have kept Dumbledore from seeing into his motives, his plans. By his own admission, only Snape had shields that strong. The man had been a teacher for years, and suddenly acquired a massive stutter, a drastic change in demeanor, and if not mental shields that could exceed Snape's, then memories of something that could doom the world they knew. Yet, Dumbledore suspected nothing?

The Chamber, a monster loose in the school yet what did he do? Call for help from the Ministry? No, he waited till thing had targeted a pure-blood, something that couldn't be covered up to act. Oh, Harry had no illusions on the man's blood-purity agenda. It was political at that point, the Headmaster unable to hide the events spiraling out of his control.

Then Sirius... I knew more than I wanted on that matter.

The Tri-Wizard. Moody was Order, how could Albus not know he was a fraud? Did Barty have such skill and knowledge of a man he impersonated, who was supposedly so paranoid and capable that even the Ministry feared him, yet the man Moody reported to couldn't see through? Was it not Dumbledore's own wards, that he broke to put me into the Tournament?

What the hell was his agenda? Was there one. A cold knife of worry stabbed into my heart. What if there wasn't an agenda? What if... the question seemed incredulous, impossible but... the man was old. What if it was just that? Senility. Shaking off those musings I sigh.

No. There was no way I could consider Hogwarts safe, an option. I couldn't just let Dumbledore's actions go by without some kind of reaction. This raised another question, one that settled a leaden weight in the pit of my stomach. Hogwarts... what would I do for school?

Putting that conundrum to the side for now, I return to the simpler ideal of home, with a rueful sigh. There were other options, of course... well one at least. Hermione's words at the Hog's Head came back to me then, reminding me of the places my family, the Potter side of my family had still. My legacy. I want to find them, in time. That time wasn't now, not while there were bigger things to do, things like Voldemort and Death Eaters. I want a life after this... after the war, such as it was. Then, I'd indulge in learning who I was.

Who... Harry was supposed to be.

Maybe by then I could really consider myself Harry Potter again. A smirk bent my lips, as Hermione's eyes turned curious, searching. I realize now that I'm laughing, a quiet, mirthless chuckle.

If I could kill Voldemort, then I really was still Harry Potter. Because only he could.

My resolve returned with Hermione that day. I had time to think on things, before Hogwarts began again, before I was forced to make a decision on whether to put myself in danger, at the Headmaster's whim and questionable capability.

Not only myself, but others as well. Voldemort wanted me, and it was painfully obvious he'd go to great lengths to have me

Another week of daily visits and for only the second time, Nigel came to me, during my visit with Hermione. "Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, it's good to see you both in good spirits," the man said, and now that my eyes are clear, I see him clearly as well. He was shorter than me, by a few inches and had wispy, cottony hair where it still grew. This seemed limited to a wreath that rested just over his ears and around to the nape of the man's neck. As like the last time he came, I saw the odd reflective disk attached to a band that he wore around his head, a curious thing. It still confused me. His face was clear, open, with a generous smile and lines that spread along his brow, cheeks and eyes that spoke of years of laughter, and other strong emotions.

Despite knowing of Pomfrey's duplicity, he reminded me of how the woman felt. "I'm feeling better," I say with a small grin, looking over to Hermione. She's watching us both, face neutral. "How much longer do I need to stay?"

Nigel shrugs and checks a clipboard he has. "When you arrived, your magic was in such a state of disarray you were a danger to everyone near you. That, more than anything, was why we took the measures we did to give you time. There is no magic that can heal what was wrong. Only time."

I consider that, my own reasoning during my convalescence and nod, "Hermione mentioned I'd been here a month last week," I reply, but the sudden frown the man's wearing stalls any other words I'd have spoken.

"I'm afraid it's been somewhat longer than that, Mr. Potter."

Hermione's glance to me was confused, as was mine, regarding the doctor. It was her sudden motion, standing that started me wondering...

"What did you do," she asked quietly, and I see her reach for her wand, hand closing on air then clenching. Blinking, confused I realize I've never seen her with a wand here.

Nigel produced another block, and transfigured a chair, much like that first day he'd met the man. Sitting with a grunt, the man took a deep breath and crossed his arms. "One day, for twelve."

_One day for twelve._

Hermione's voice was shrill, unbelieving, and it penetrated the haze that had settled around my mind like a blade. "How... why?!"

"Amelia," Nigel said simply, as if that were the only answer. We both watched the man, too shocked in my case, probably too angry in Hermione's to do anything else. "You two are young. You haven't been in my line of work. Let me explain.

"Another case of soul damage... ah. Yes. You are acquainted with a young Mr. Longbottom, yes?" At Harry's nod, the man continued, "His parents are currently in our longterm care center. They were driven to insanity by their body's inability to cope with the pain curse, used for a long time. It's similar to other injuries, some more direct than others. The nature of magic is that, even the most trivial spell, cast with the intent to harm can do terrible damage."

"I'm sorry doctor, but what do you mean? Magic is either light or dark, it's what we've been taught since beginning Hogwarts. I mean, there's a Defense class based solely on those ideals," her tone, familiar, was the one that spoke her resolve on the matter. I'd grown used to that, as she often lectured Ron and myself using that same tone of voice.

"Indeed? Well, let me demonstrate, before I continue then," chuckling, the man simply drew his wand, putting us both on edge. Shortly he conjured a medical mannequin, and seemed to offer us an apologetic smile.

Paling, I watched as he cast and canceled a dozen charms, watching the mannequin react, the lights and signals of damage, severity flashing above it. A bubblehead charm, inverted so as to be a vacuum, with a body bind. A strong summoner aimed at the dummy's third cervical vertebrae, which caused Hermione to pale as well. A simple engorgement spell aimed at the figure's torso confused me, till it's ribcage burst the thing's chest open, making me want to vomit. Transfigurations, switching spells, charms, jinxes... all harmless, unless the intent and cunning in their casting was deadly. "These aren't practical of course," the man replied, but sighed regardless. "Any spell, done with dark intent, is a dark spell. The opposite can be said as well."

Hermione stared at the man, shaking her head obstinately. "I cannot see the Unforgivables being used for light causes. It's not possible."

"You can't see, because you are young. It's not a fault, simply a lack of experience." Heaving a breath, the man leaned back in his chair, regarding us both sadly. "Shock patients, those withdrawing so deeply into themselves as to eventually lapse into coma are a rare situation for wizards. So often we can stop such things from happening. Tell me, Ms. Granger, what are the physiological effects of pain?"

"It... it stimulates the fight or flight response. Adrenaline, heightened responses. Or can be used to reinforce behavior."

Nodding, the man continued. "Localized, the pain curse cast correctly can reverse the effects of some shock victims, by forcing their bodies into a more active and reactive state, which if we catch it before the mind retreats, will also force it to become active again. Now, you are familiar with the imperious curse? Can you tell me a way to make it a positive thing?"

"To stop someone," I say, thinking already along the lines this man is attempting to explain. "Suicides. To keep someone from hurting themselves or another."

Nigel looked at me and gave a half nod. "Would it be easier to use such crude devices as muggles do, these IV devices, or would placing someone under the command to eat seem more humane? Mr. Potter, do you realize your body would be little more than that of a wasted husk by now, if we had not used the same curse to force you to eat, sleep, move these twelve months? Ms. Granger? Do you begin to understand now?"

Hermione turned to look at me, in the same way I was looking at Nigel. I'd been... had I been so far gone? "What was wrong with me that..." I trail off, shaking my head slowly.

Nodding curtly, I realize he's steered us back to the original conversation again, "Your body had suffered too much strain, too soon. We have no way to predict or even attempt to try beginning to understand the things which happened to you. There has only been one survivor of that curse, and he's sitting here." Sighing again, the man seemed to age before me, his hands limp and pale in his lap. "My point is this. Soul injuries, dark magic, darkly used magic... it takes time to heal. Your soul is not a broken arm. We gave you the time you needed, but we also had to consider that time was of the essence. Amelia could not keep you hidden away from Dumbledore for a year, perhaps two or more. Some didn't want to, but she entreated to us as healers, to heal, and keep our ears and minds closed to the man. We could not keep you at St. Mungo's for such a time either, as we've found even among our own, elements of the enemy. Not to mention the lack of proper facilities." Grumbling, the man stood with a groan and a creak of bones.

Gesturing for us to stand, Nigel lead Hermione and myself out of the one door, into the hall. "We had a staff that volunteered. Mostly former Ministry Aurors who were part of the last war, that had gone into medicine, wanting to heal rather than harm after the war. We are in an annex below a small city by the coast, an old muggle military base that had been converted to a makeshift medical ward in the late seventies. You were moved every day, then that day replayed. It only took minutes to move you to the next room," waving, the man indicated the twelve doors branching off the hallway they walked down. "We were host to a very peculiar guest, this last month."

I look to the doors and try to imagine being behind all of them. All at once. "So... for every day that you felt, I was... recovering twelve? Each day replayed in a different room to avoid running into myself?"

"Essentially. There are details of course that are trivial, but essential to the workings of such a thing," the man replied, reaching to stretch his back noisily. It was while they walked, outside of the room that I realized... I was taller than Hermione by a span of more than just a few inches. I hadn't really paid it much attention, with how rarely I could stand, how often doing so I was stooped a bit in my weakness and weariness. Now, walking, back straight and paying attention it was more obvious. "There of course, is another reason, one Amelia had thought of as the only feasible solution to your issues. Once that had been brought to light, we had little reason not to go forward."

We continued to walk until with a gasp Hermione stopped, causing me to run into her, nearly sending us both sprawling. "But... that can't be legal!"

Nigel favored her with a smile that would have looked at home on Salazar himself. "Oh, but it is. You did know that all Time Turners are monitored and recorded by the Department of Mysteries? Harry has spent one year in recovery – _indisputable_. His time. Magical documents, records and measurements will all say the same, because to him, and more importantly his _body_, he has spent nearly seventeen years on this earth."

"Hermione," my hand closes over her wrist, and I shake my head as she starts looking frantic. "It's ok. I mean, it'll be ok," I amend. "They did what they needed to. You know that time would have worked for Dumbledore. Given enough desperation, he could have done enough damage to undermine any other methods. He needs me. This way... he never knew. He's only lost me for a month, and though I lost a year, at least I'm not broken, incapable now.

"Can you imagine what would have happened if I was at Hogwarts, instead of..." grimacing, I realize I can't say the name of my own home, and sigh. "Where I live? When I finally fell apart?" With an unsure nod, she relents and I manage to lead her on, to the door where Nigel is waiting.

Am I ok? Hell no! I missed a year, a whole bloody year of my life... but. Would it have mattered? If I spent a year holed up in a straitjacket, gibbering and drooling on myself would it have been any more... Lacking words I sigh. With my mind made up to speak to Amelia about this, and soon. "I do have one more question, though."

"I imagined there'd be more than one, but go on."

I don't bother trying not to laugh at that. "Why? Why do all this?"

Nigel looked to me with a small, sad smile. Only then do I see the age on the man, the weight of years I've not seen on even Dumbledore. "Because of who I am, who you are, and what all that means."

He didn't elaborate, and in truth, I didn't pursue it. Maybe I'm used to abstract answers to direct question, or maybe I didn't want to see what the guilt in his eyes when he said that meant. Nigel lead us then to a small sitting room, where I find a change of clothes I don't recognize, my wand, and various personal effects. There's a pair of glasses, new and unfamiliar there as well. "Get dressed, I'll lead Ms. Granger on ahead. The door to the right is where we'll be waiting." So saying, the man leaves me to shed this preposterous gown. Hermione gives my hand, which I didn't notice she had been holding this entire time, a gentle squeeze and retreats after him.

I look to the parcels there, and frown. The clothes are fairly modern, and don't clash with what could be expected out in London. I wonder who picked them out.

_Not bad taste, if this was Hermione's doing, you should let her pick your clothes more often_, Sirius quips, and I smile.

"I may do just that," I reply, running a hand along the materials. "Merlin knows I'd be useless in a store."

Picking up the supple, low cuffed black leather boots I stifle a laugh, revising my earlier thoughts. Dragonscale accents may be a bit too obvious for London proper. A pair of gray denim trousers and a simple heavy cotton button down, collarless in charcoal leave me feeling like mostly a person again. The fact that they were sized to my slightly larger frame relieved me, as I was worried that my previous clothes were likely too small now. Peering through the glasses, simple things with a thin silver frame, I see they're blanks, plain glass. Whoever shopped for me seems to think I need to keep up appearances. Still, the familiar weight of them is reassuring, if unneeded. Old habits.

The holly wand felt... strange, when I picked it up. It still held a warmth, but there was a sense of difference now. Writing it off as something to look into later, I tuck it away and hurry to the next room, unwilling to leave Hermione with the man Nigel, regardless of his seeming good intentions. I'd seen where those lead, and wanted no more part of highways to hell.

My wish to see Amelia is granted, as I walk into the main floor of a sparse, but comfortable looking villa. Amelia Bones, Director of Magical Law Enforcement stood there, looking more weary and severe than I'd remember. "Director, Mr. Potter seems well enough to be released," Nigel said shortly, standing to the side with Hermione, the young witch looking pensive and worried. "Any pertinent records are on the desk there, and if my services are further required, you know where to find me."

"Indeed I do, doctor," the lead of the DMLE replies, putting some harsh emphasis on the last word. I'm somewhat taken aback at her frosty tone. "Have a safe trip back to Dresden."

With a gruff noise and a glare, the man stomped his way to the floo. Blinking after the doctor, I wonder at this change in personality, a difference that would have set me off the man entirely had it been apparent when we met.

My confusion isn't lost to to Amelia, who waits until the floo finishes flashing green to release a held breath. "Sorry, for that."

"What do you mean?" Glancing around, I take in the room, seeing accents that I don't recognize easily. It feels foreign. Not only that, but the windows, unnoticed before, offer me a view of the sea.

Gesturing to where Hermione is already sitting, Madam Bones settles herself behind a nearby desk, reaching up to rub the bridge of her nose. It's a tired gesture, one I'm familiar with from Susan. "Nigel is... an old acquaintance. I'm surprised you were in such a good mood when he brought you out of the basement rooms, honestly. That aside, there are a few things, mostly follow-ups to the Department of Mysteries fiasco that occurred recently, that I want to talk with you two about."

Seating myself by Hermione, I spare the witch a glance, getting a brief smile in return. She seems nervous, but I can't really blame her. Being that I've recently spent most of my summer, what I recall of it, either dodging or infuriating authority figures, it only seems fitting that the head of the DMLE should be next on the list. Still, her own and Nigel's animosity roused my curiosity, and I'm sure Hermione's as well.

_Careful where you step, pup,_ Sirius warns, to which I silently chuckle. _This one's got a bite, unlike that moron Fudge._

"Duly noted," I reply silently, as Amelia brings us, rather me, up to date on the world that I've been absent from for a month. Hermione adds in some details, where Madam Bones has either missed something closer to home, or to add a different perspective.

After the meeting, I had a lot to think on. Fudge being sacked, a rumor that Snape would be taking over the Defense class, and more Death Eater activity. A witch, name unknown by Madam Bones and Hermione had been killed, out in greater London. My home – Hermione hadn't felt secure enough to pass me the secret yet – was under surveillance by the Order but the bright witch had managed to get Kreacher to allow goblins inside to set up a secure apparition and portkey point. They'd also warded and put a security screen up on the floo, something I was unfamiliar with. Up till then she'd been using my invisibility cloak to come and go, and there was a significant look to me, when I mentioned her going home. I remembered her talk of sending her parents to Australia then with a cold weight in my chest. Resigning to speak with her more about it once we were back, I returned my attention to the news.

Lupin had been absent since that night, as obviously, had everyone else, and though Kreacher had mail, for both myself and Hermione, she'd done little to read it. It was only by the grace that I'd left some measure of instruction at Gringotts that she could access and use the vault there in my name, and even then it wasn't until she'd exhausted her own moneys that she'd done so. On hearing this, I leveled my own significant look her way.

We each signed statements about our involvement with the battle at the Ministry, but left Amelia unsatisfied, when we wouldn't go into detail about the prophecy itself. Hermione simply didn't know it, and I wasn't trusting enough of the Ministry at this point to give them my shoe size.

With a promise to come by her offices before the start of term to discuss not only further issues but to address the issues of my age and the repercussions of that unique situation, Hermione took my hand and activated a portkey, the same phoenix amulet I'd used, it seemed like an eternity ago.

-

A/N: Can't leave you hanging so badly, as I did last time. At least now there's a little resolution. Less dialog, next time.


End file.
